


Day Is Gone

by Kissing_Toast



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 1960's, Canon Related, Dean - Freeform, Gen, He's not a very nice person in this -but then neither is the OFC, It's a dark story, POV OFC, Serial Killer Dean, Very AU, also a bit of a mystery, and lots more that I don't want to reveal at the onset, just so you know...., there's a method to my madness, will contain spoilers up to and including S9 - sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 09:36:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 39,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3645474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kissing_Toast/pseuds/Kissing_Toast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Dean Winchester is a notorious killer. When he's transferred to Roosevelt Asylum in the spring of '62, after a decade long murder spree across the continental US, the last thing anyone expected to happen was Sister Mary Constance befriending him. Through risky late night talks the Sister is awakened to a dark world she never knew existed, while Dean is offered a chance at redemption. As tensions mount within the hospital's walls a sinister secret is revealed that will either break or prove their friendship. How far is Sister Mary willing to go to help a killer, and what is the real truth behind Dean's ignominious reputation?</p><p>A/N: Finally done. Yay! Hugs and puppies all around :P And thanks all for taking the time to read :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Something Wicked This Way Cometh

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta:ed so all mistakes are my own. 
> 
> Set in the 50's and 60's but the timeline of (certain) events is written to match the show. I've tried to stick to canon as far as possible, even when changing/omitting details or circumstances, but this fic is very AU and I will warn that it is NOT told from Dean's POV. Warnings will be chapter specific when needed.
> 
> Comments and kudos are welcome, and constructive criticism is appreciated, but please be polite. Thanks for reading!

The day had been unusually warm for early March. No snow lingered, but a fierce thunder storm had rolled in after the sun sank below the horizon. Now, white stabs of lightning illuminated the murky halls of the South Ward at alarmingly decreasing intervals. The claps of thunder were growing so loud that the panes of glass shuddered in their rickety old frames. Every light in the place had been flickering ominously for about an hour, each time a crash of thunder hammered down from the sky.

It was nearing midnight when the buzzer rang; the newest patient had arrived. Sister Mary Constance exchanged a look with Syd, the orderly who shared night shift with her.

”Here comes trouble,” he said, before exiting the office to make the treck down to the back door, heavy key chain jangling from his belt in the intermittent silence.

Sister Mary Constance listened to his footsteps recede before sucking in a steadying breath and making a last round of checks. She was pacing the small office when the distant thrum of the the maintenance elevator caught her attention. That anyone was taking the elevator this late meant the new patient was strapped down, most likely heavily sedated.

A few minutes later she heard keys jangling outside the ward's doors. Wheels screeched and rattled as a gurney was steered in by two burley looking orderlies in white uniforms, accompanied by a veritable army of police officers.

Syd looked on-edge as he lead the way to the cell at the very end of the ward. The officer in charge was explaining the particulars to him as they walked. ”He was heavily sedated before transportation. He should be out 'till morning but, according to the doc, his reaction to the meds is unpredictable. Keep a sedative on hand at all times. And don't get too close, he's ripped people apart with his bare hands before, does a lot of damage when he's in a rage....”

Syd was nodding, eyes a little too wide.

Their voices faded away as Sister Mary Constance's eyes fell on the unconscious man, a patient being wheeled to the last cell he'd ever know. He had short, light brown hair, and bristly stubble framed full lips. He was tall and solid-looking but unconscious almost had the air of a sleeping child. She followed the procession, watched from a few steps back as they moved the gurney alongside the bed and hoisted him over. Every officer had one hand resting on his gun, ready to draw if needed.

The patient was fastened to the bed, everyone exited. Syd locked the door and the tension in the air dropped noticably. The officers left. Sister Mary Constance locked the ward behind them, turned and leaned against the door.

”That was unsettling,” she breathed.

Syd raised an eyebrow. ”You do know who that is right? It's Dean friggin' Winchester. Craziest son of a bitch to walk the earth since Jack the Ripper.”

Sister Mary Constance bit back a remark about his cussing, instead raising an eyebrow in confusion.

”Oh, come on!” Syd continued. ”Don't tell me you haven't heard of him. He's spent the last decade slaughtering his way around the country. Slicing and dicing.” He wiggled his eyebrows, grinning like he just met his idol. For all Sister Mary knew he probably had.

Syd was odd, odd enough that if he'd had different inclinations he may have been locked up in the ward instead of working there. His fascination with the patients bordered on unhealthy. But he was a decent orderly and Sister Mary suspected that his move to nights was the compromise of a higher-up, rather than firing him outright.

He went into the office; procured a bottle of bourbon from his secret stash in the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet, poured two glasses and sighed.

”I'm telling you, Sister, shit he's done makes every other patient in this place look like a goddamn teddy bear.” Syd up-ended his glass then refilled it.

”You shouldn't drink so much. You're on the clock.” Sister Mary nabbed her glass and took a small sip.

”Neither should you.” Syd gestured pointedly at her as she drank, then grinned.

”I'm going to do my checks.” She rose.

”You're curious about him, admit it.” Syd chuckled, turned on the small TV in the corner.

She returned a flat look.

”Yeah, yeah. Just be careful.” Syd sobered and threw his feet up on the desk. ”He's escaped from half the places he's been held.” His attention turned to the late night talk show.

Sister Mary turned and left, padding carefully into the dark hallway. A sudden bark of thunder sounded overhead and the few lights in use went out. From the office she could hear Syd's hearfelt curse.

Her pulse sped up. The storm made her uneasy, like an omen of bad things to come. By the light of the heavens she made her way quietly to the end of the row, cautiously stepped to the door and opened the hatch. He was still sleeping -  _Dean_ , she thought. He didn't look like a killer. He looked less crazy than half the deranged souls not only in this ward but in the entire asylum. He looked innocent in his hospital gown, strapped down at wrist and ankle, a peaceful look on his face. Another clap of thunder sounded, followed almost immediately by more lightning as the storm carried on it's cycle. In the strobes of white through the barred window she thought for a moment that his eyes were open, watching her. She stood on tip toe, straining her eyes in the dark. Yes, his eyes were open, meeting hers unflinchingly. A hand clamped down on her shoulder as the next clap of thunder made every window rattle, and she whirled around. Syd looked down at her, wide-eyed, flashlight at his side.

“Don't sneak up on me!” She huffed.

“I didn't sneak.” He sounded annoyed. “Come on, get back to the office. I'm gonna go check the breakers.” He took her arm to lead her away.

Sister Mary looked back into the cell. Dean's eyes were closed. _Must be the storm_ , she thought to herself, but the uneasy feeling in her stomach wasn't so sure.

 

= = = =

 

Dean was kept sedated for the first week. Strapped to the bed. Her first night back at work after he woke up saw a cold spell return and snow falling. She didn't think anything of it at the time, until she entered the ward.

“He's awake.” Syd greeted her as she hung her coat in the office.

“Nice to see you too, Syd.” She smiled. “Has the doctor seen him yet?”

“Nah, he woke up a few hours ago. Still strapped down. Marv said he hasn't even moved. Just stares at the ceiling.” He shuddered. “I bet the doctor'll see him tomorrow.”

“You really shouldn't gossip, Syd.” But she smiled despite herself.

“It's not gossip.” Syd gave her a look like she was a slow child. “It's info we need to do our jobs.”

“Syd, please. I take my place here seriously, but you know as well as I do that we just babysit them. Nothing ever happens during our shift. Not on this ward at least.” As the words left her mouth she felt a ripple of cold down her spine.

“Yeah...” Syd conceded. “It's Dullsville around here...”

Sister Mary couldn't quite shake the sudden chill. “How about you take first checks tonight?”

 

= = = =

 

Weeks later and Dean still hadn't said a word. She knew this only thanks to Syd's incessant gossip. He relayed every little detail Marv, from day shift, told him: That the patient wouldn't speak, wouldn't take his meds, wouldn't even look at the doctor when he came to call. Just stared at the ceiling not reacting to anything going on around him.

Perhaps Sister Mary lingered too long outside his room on her nightly checks. She wondered what had led him into a life of murder. But to be locked up here, he must have other problems to warrant it. Every man on the south ward was a criminal, true, but more importantly they were insane. Roy had raped and murdered a few dozen women, claimed the neighbors dog made him do it. Jimmy had spent six years locked in a room at Roosevelt because, in his own words, “God demanded I smite the unclean”. Gary claimed that a demon called Alistair had promised him great rewards if he only killed the antichrist, the problem was he didn't know who that was, so he had hacked his way through 22 young men before being caught. Gordon, Roosevelt's here-to-fore most dangerous patient, had been locked up since before Sister Mary's tenure. With the arrival of Dean Winchester, Gordon might have some competition for the title of 'Roosevelt's Most Savage'.

They were all violent and they were all delusional. All could claim deep-seated traumas that the courts deemed just cause to have them locked up at Roosevelt. No one left the South Ward, not outside of a body bag.

Sister Mary softly closed the hatch to Dean's room and made her way back to the office. As she passed Roy's room she could hear the laboured breathing and rustling of cloth that indicated one of Roy's less seemly nightime habits. She opened the hatch but averted her eyes. “Cut it out, Roy! Don't make me get the hose again.”

The sounds stopped. “Do it, Sister...” Roy breathed, voice full of lewd innuendo. “Get the hose, bring that sweet ass in here so I can-”

“I'll tell Dr. Ellicott.” She hissed, swinging the flashlight around. Let the beam shine through the hatch to blind Roy.

His hand was under the sheets, tenting the fabric over his crotch, but thankfully it had stopped moving. Slowly he pulled it free, eyes a little wide. “I-I'll be good, Sister. No-no need to tell the doc.”

“Now go back to sleep!” She closed the hatch a little sharper than she needed to.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to take a quick moment here to mention that this nun isn't a full habit, Sister Act type of nun. She wears a simple black dress and a simple veil. Think the blonde nun - Sister Mary Eunice - in S2 of American Horror Story (though that's not who I based the character on, just the clothes). Just FYI, folks xD


	2. Like a Bloodstained Hurricane

Spring had finally settled. The air was perfumed with it's unmistakable scent as Sister Mary walked across the courtyard. It was warm enough to not need a coat, but she wrapped her sweater more tightly around her shoulders as she approached the South Ward. Where once she was unfazed by working amongst the patients, now she had a sense of foreboding as she climbed the steps to the old building. It was as though something dark and brooding had been awoken in the very bricks and mortar – like the building heaved and sighed, pulsed in anticipation of her arrival.

“Where's Syd?” She asked upon reaching the top floor.

“Car trouble.” Carl, one of the orderlies who normally worked over in the East Ward, said with a scowl. “He said he'd get here as soon as he could. I thought you might need some help settling these fuckers in for the night.” More likely he thought it was a huge waste of time being here. Though the South Ward housed the worst of the worst at Roosevelt, it was also the most secure ward. Carl just wanted to be back on East Ward so he could ogle the female patients.

“That's very nice Carl, but I'm sure I'll be fine You can go.” She forced a smile.

“Wish I could, Sister. But the Doc's still here. Checking up on the newest psycho in room 8.”

Before she could think of another excuse to get rid of Carl, the doctor's voice boomed down the corridor.

“Carl! Get down here!” His voice was a commanding type of bark that expected to be obeyed. Carl hurried to do just that.

Ten slow minutes passed while Sister Mary tried to focus on paperwork, all the while straining to hear what was going on at the other end of the ward. She had just settled back to one particularly boring piece of paper when the doctor's voice made her jump.

“Sister.” She spun around to see the doctor standing in the doorway. Carl sulked behind him, rubbing his left wrist like it hurt. “I'm going home now. Syd should be here soon. Checks can wait until he arrives, let him take the first round.” He turned to leave, stopped, said over his shoulder, “And stay away from room 8 until he does.” He left, Carl in tow.

Odd, she thought, very odd. She disliked being forced to wait on her checks, to have her routine disrupted. She was filing away the latest batch of reports when Syd came bustling into the office a while later, flushed and panting.

“So, get this!” Syd began without preamble while he shucked off his coat. “I ran into Marv on the way up here, bastard's working overtime _again_ , and he told me that our celebrity patient almost took Carl's arm off today. Guess that cop was right.” He smiled ruefully, like a salacious rumor about his favourite actor had been proven true.

Sister Mary stopped her filing as the details of Syd's latest rumor-mill tidbit sank in. She wondered why Carl would be back at work if he had been attacked earlier in the day... then remembered him petulantly nursing his wrist before leaving the ward this evening with Dr. Ellicott. She snorted, under her breath, at Marv's morbid embellishment then looked pointedly at Syd.

“Marv is overexaggerating. Carl was fine, nothing but bruised pride... and probably a bruised wrist.” She smiled. Carl was a lecherous chauvanist who needed to be taken down a few pegs. A small measure of guilt rippled through her at the harsh judgement of his character, but it was still true.

Syd actually looked disappointed, like a child being told Santa Claus doesn't really exsist. Then his face lit up when he realized that Sister Mary could give him a first hand account.

“So, what really happened?”

“I didn't actually see it.” Silently she said a quick prayer of contrition for giving in to gossip. “I got here at eight, met Carl who said you'd be late and that the Doctor was still here. Dr. Ellicott called Carl down to room 8, they came back after a while and Carl was rubbing his wrist, looking like someone had put him in his place.” She had Syd's rapt attention. “I didn't think too much of it. But Dr. Ellicott was being very cautious. Told me to wait on checks until you got here...” _And to stay away from Dean's room_ , she added silently.

She could practically see the cogs turning inside Syd's skull. She had a thought.

“Syd, how long have we been working together?”

Syd blinked at the sudden change of topic. “Ah... two years in May. Why?”

“In all that time, have you ever known Dr. Ellicott to stay late?”

“Uh... no. Why?” He looked genuinely puzzled before the implication of her words dawned on him. “You think the Doc's up to something?” He grinned conspiratorially.

“No... I don't know.” She fought the grin spreading across her face in answer to Syd's. His boisterous nature was contagious and Sister Mary was constantly fascinated by the inner workings of his odd brain. She sobered. “It's just... I can't help but get this feeling that something's not right. Like that patient means more to the Doctor than he's letting on.”

“Like what?” Syd frowned.

“I don't know... Sure, he's one of the bloodier cases, but he certainly isn't the craziest...” She sighed, second guessing her conspiratorial theories.

“He kills 'monsters'. I'd say that's crazier than nutty old Roy being given orders by the neighbours dog...”

 

= = = =

 

Later, when Syd had nodded off in front of his late show, Syster Mary did her checks. As she reached room 8 she looked around to check that Syd wasn't sneaking up on her again, then very carefully opened the hatch. Dean lay on the bed, hands clasped over his stomach, staring at the ceiling. Sister Mary watched the rise and fall of his chest for a few moments.

“You gonna stare at me like that every night?”

She jolted in surprise. His voice was soft but deep, rough with weeks of disuse. Where Syd's voice was a rich baritone, Dean's voice was a gravelly bass. It wasn't what she had expected.

He raised his head to look at her. “It's just... it's a bit creepy.” Instead of reproach there was an undercurrent of laughter in his words. He lay back down and resumed eyeing the ceiling.

Sister Mary swallowed. “I'm just doing checks.”

“Yeah I'm sure you're checkin' something...” Again the words were meant to insult but instead came off like friendly banter.

She opened her mouth to protest, closed it. Tried to stay professional. “We have to check that no one's hurt themselves...” she said. “I check every patient on this ward just as thoroughly.” If there was a slight defensive tone to her words she didn't mean to let it be heard.

He smiled, teeth a flash of white in the dark. “I'm sure you're very thorough.”

“I'm just doing my job. If you dislike our procedures, take it up with Dr. Ellicott next time you see him.” She was annoyed now and that _did_ creep into her voice. Dean looked up at her again, leaning back on his elbows.

“Who do I have to kill around here to get an extra blanket? I'm freezing my ass off.”

She gave him wide eyes.

“Relax, Sister. Just a little psycho killer humor.” He flashed that pearly white smile again.

She closed the hatch and went to the storage closet, walking quietly so her sturdy leather shoes wouldn't clack on the linoleum.

He was gazing at the ceiling again when she returned.

“Stay where you are.” She said through the hatch, then closed it and unbolted the door.

“I thought you'd given up on me.” He smiled warmly and sat up as she entered, folded blanket clutched to her chest. She closed the door firmly behind her and stepped carefully towards the bed. Slowly, she laid the blanket next to his feet, not getting too close, never taking her eyes off him. As she stepped back she saw that his right ankle was enclosed in a heavy shackle; a chain ran from it to coil on the floor at the leg of the bed where the other end was attached. She estimated that there was just enough length for him to reach the toilet in the corner.

“Thank you.” He said. Her eyes snapped back to him and she backed up fast to the door. She managed a small smile before retreating back to the relative safety of the office.

 

= = = =

 

The next evening Sister Mary pulled Syd aside a soon as she got to the ward.

“Can you get his file?”

“What...? File, what file? Whose?” Syd stuttered.

“You know who.” She felt a sudden blush creeping up her cheeks.

“Oh...” Syd sing-songed, wiggling his eyebrows. He leaned in, lowered his voice. “So, you've finally found one that's piqued your interest?”

Sister Mary stepped back, fighting to keep a look of guilt off her face. “No!” She was a bit too quick to protest. “I mean... Not in the way you mean.” She turned away to hide the blush.

“Hey, cool it, I'm only teasing.” Syd softened his tone.

“Well I wish you wouldn't.” The Sister hugged her arms to herself.

“Anyway,” Syd stepped around her to sit on the desk, moving into her line of sight. “Those files are locked in Doc Ellicott's office. We only get the prescriptions.”

“Never mind.” She turned her back on him.

“No, no, no, hang on a sec.” Syd grabbed her arm, spinning her back around. “I'm sorry I teased you. I just don't think it's a good idea to break into his office.”

“You're right. It's not. But I know you skulk around this place. You know how to get into any room. Just get the file, please. Wouldn't you agree that it's safer for us to know who exactly we're dealing with? I _know_ something strange is going on. This big a fuss hasn't been made about a patient in the whole time I've been working here. And I _know_ the answers will be in that file.”

“Okay,” Syd agreed. “I'll get you the file.”

 

= = = =

 

2 a.m. rolled around with a rain storm on it's heels. Droplets had started to spatter the wire-mesh window, when Syd came creeping back up to the 2nd floor.

“I'm awesome!” He slapped a thick manilla folder on the desk in front of Sister Mary.

“You are, Syd, you really are!” She scrambled to open it.

“Amen, Sister! Now I reckon I'm worth a prayer or two for my troubles. Not to mention breaking a commandment.” He poured himself a drink from his secret stash.

Sister Mary's eyes were racing across the pages. She mumbled agreement, only half listening.

 

 

_Patients name: Dean Winchester_

_Sex: Male_

_Date of Birth: 1/24/1927_

_Hair color: Brown_

_Eye color: Green_

 

 

_Parents: Mary and John Winchester (deceased november 1952)._

_Siblings: Brother - Sam Winchester._

 

 

 

_Wanted in Montana for multiple murders by decapitation (May 1953). Arrested in Red Lodge, escaped._

_Wanted in Arkansas, arrested for B &E, detained at the Green River County Detention Center (April 1954). Charged with arson while incarcerated. Escaped._

_Wanted in Colorado for murder (December 1954). Arrested and detained by local police, escaped._

_Wanted in Iowa for murder by stabbing (October 1955), evaded arrest._

_Wanted in Minnesota for murder by decapitation (head blown off with shotgun) (November 1955), evaded arrest._

_Arrested in Oklahoma for B &E, suspected of murder, insufficient evidence found (November 1956). Sentenced to 8 months, served 6, at the Oklahoma State Penitentiary._

_Arrested in Rhode Island for second degree arson (December 1957). Sentenced to 11 months. Served 7._

_Arrested in Kansas for kidnapping (February 1959). Served a 13 month sentence at the Kansas State Penitentiary._

_Wanted in Michigan for murder (June 1960). Evaded arrest._

 

At the end was a note by a Dr. Fuller of the Glenwood Springs Psychiatric Hospital:

 

_It is my professional opinion that the patient is acutely delusional and suffers_

_from severe psychosis. He displays a large portion of the quotients needed_

_to classify as a sociopath, coupled with elements of psychotic schizofrenia._

_Attempts to rehabilitate should be administered carefully, and results should_

_not feasibly be expected. I would recommend this patient be admitted permanently_

_to a facility for the criminally insane._

 

The file contained everything from police reports to crime scene photo's. Picture after picture of dismembered bodies, burned corpses. Bodies stabbed so many times that dental analysis was needed to identify them. So much death it was hard to believe that it had all been caused by one man.

Syd was fast asleep again, as was his habit in the pre-dawn hours. Sister Mary looked at the clock, 4:27 am, and realized that she'd missed 3 o'clock checks. Hustling to make up for lost time, she barely even looked into the other patient's rooms. She only wanted to check on one particular patient, the one in room 8.

Dean was asleep, lying perfectly still on his back as always. He would have appeared dead if it wasn't for the slow rise and fall of his chest. She studied him for a few hushed moments and still she couldn't see it; the supposed killer inside. But she did trust the verdict of the courts and reminded herself that even the most evil killers could charm you into forgiving them. That's what made them truly dangerous.

Dean twitched on the bed, like he could feel her watching. She left.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't live in the US so I've had to rely on Google to help me understand basic sentencing for the crimes mentioned in this fic. I've tried to keep it somewhat believable, but decided at the end of the day to take artistic license so that the timeline of the show would fit with the timeline of my fic. It was also difficult considering this is set 60 years ago and I have no idea how sentencing was back then. I hope the errors aren't too glaring. My Google-fu is so-so, but again, it's all added with a sense of artistic license :)


	3. Through Fortune and Flame We Fall

For days Sister Mary couldn't get the images from Dean's file out of her head. She waited until Syd had fallen asleep in the wee hours before returning to peer at Dean's sleeping form. She watched his hands, large and relaxed in sleep, resting on his stomach. To think that those hands had slain so many innocent people. He twitched, then sucked in a deep breath.

“Can't tear your eyes away from my beauty, huh, Sister?” He spoke quietly, eyes still closed.

“You're... interesting...” She whispered.

He was quiet for so long she thought he'd fallen back asleep.

“That's the nice way of putting it.” He licked his lips and pulled himself up to lean against the bed frame. “Most people use nastier adjectives to describe me.”

There was a full moon out, shining it's light from the cloudless sky, illuminating half the room. The blankets had pooled at his waist and in the silvery light she could see the scars crisscrossing his arms, bared for all to see by the white t-shirt he wore.

“Did you really murder all those people?” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself. Sent out in a whisper through the hushed dark.

He gave her a tired smile. “That's what my rap sheet says. I wouldn't call any of them people though...” He looked away.

“What do you mean?” She stepped closer to the door.

“Nothing.” He shook his head and scrubbed a hand down his face. “What time is it?” He looked back to her.

“Ah... it's, um...“ She strained to see her wrist watch in the dark. “Almost five.”

“Your shift's nearly over, then.” His eyes locked on hers with a peculiar cast that sent a ripple of disquiet through her.

“Yes... I'm sorry I woke you.” She closed the hatch abruptly and hurried back to the office.

“Syd... Syd!” She shook him awake.

“Wha... what?” He slurred, wiping drool from the corner of his mouth.

“Can you take the 5 o'clock checks? I'm not feeling well. I have to go.” She shrugged on her cardigan.

“Ah, sure... You gonna be okay?” He blinked sleep out of his eyes, trying to make sense of her behaviour.

“Yeah, I just need to go lie down.” She hurried out.

 

= = = =

 

Syd called the next day to check that she was alright.

“Yes, Syd. I'm fine.” She said into the receiver for the hundredth time.

“You sure? You really freaked me out taking off like that.” His voice held genuine concern. A reaction she never would have expected from Syd, the awkward night shift orderly.

“I just had a dizzy spell or something. Maybe the late nights are starting to take a toll.”

“Oh, you can't quit night shift, Sister! You're the only one who keeps their mouth shut about my drinking and my naps.” He laughed nervously.

“Don't worry, Syd. I'll see you Monday. Okay, Bye.” She hung up the phone with a heavy sigh, picked up her rosary and took a well needed moment to pray.

 

= = = =

 

Monday rolled around all too soon. Sister Mary Constance rose at noon then took an hour of prayer, as was her routine. She ate her breakfast in the communal kitchen shared by all the Sisters living at Roosevelt. When the Asylum was turned over to the Church in 1897, housing was built for the clergy. One dormitory for the nuns and one for the priests. Times had changed and none of the preists lived on the gorunds any longer; except for monseignor Cassidy, a decrepit old man, 82 years of age. He'd turned the administration over to Mother Mary Clarence - a crotchety nun who believed in old school methods of discipline - and lived in seclusion, praying day and night for the deranged inmates of Roosevelt Asylum.

Mother Mary Clarence ran a tight ship. She disapproved of having her nuns work nights, alone with male orderlies, but begrudgingly let it slide. She thought that it was all God's work, after all, and accepted that it was prudent to have spiritual advisors on hand for the inmates at all times. The big difference between the Monseignor and Mother Mary Clarence, along with some of the older nuns, and the younger clergy, was their insistance that the Asylum held prisoners and not patients. The older generation saw no salvation for the deranged lunatics and most of their prayers leaned towards gratitude for the state of perdition they endured, rather than any energy towards helping said souls towards redemption.

Sister Mary enjoyed her coffee. Savouring it's warmth and the fact that the Mother wasn't here to preach her 'no smoking, no drinking, no indulgence of any kind' decree. Syd had called again earlier in the afternoon, quadruple checking that she was well enough to come to work, lamenting the possibility of being stuck with a temp for ten hours.

8 p.m. approached. She rinsed out her coffee cup, set it to dry by the sink, and was about to walk out the door when she stopped. She ran upstairs to retrieve her dog-eared bible, the one she'd received when taking her vows, and then hurried off to the South Ward.

Syd raised an eyebrow at the book when she came into the office but wisely didn't comment. They settled into their regular routine, if with a little too much hovering from Syd for Sister Mary's taste.

She must have fallen asleep, because suddenly the gruesome images of Dean's victims were flashing before her eyes. She could hear the screaming, the begging. Feel the spray of warm blood on her face as a head was lopped off, taste it as it ran into her mouth.

She sat bolt upright, heart beating a mile a minute. Syd was snoring softly from his chair in front of the TV, head lolling to the side at an odd angle. For a moment there was a deep gash superimposed over his throat just like she had seen in one of the crime scene photos, only this time in glorious technicolor. She shot up from her own chair, about to rudely wake him when she realized than no wound marred his pale skin. She blinked and rubbed her eyes, pulse making double time as she tried to calm down and reaffirm her grip on reality. Bible gripped tight to her chest, she stepped out into the corridor where the air wasn't so close.

After a few minutes of pacing, her pulse slowed. She was chanting _Hail Mary_ under her breath, over and over, in an attempt to stabilize her nerves. Presently, under no discernible power of her own, she found herself moving down the corridor towards room 8.

This time, when she gingerly opened the hatch, he wasn't sleeping. He was sitting up in his bed, waiting for her. His eyes were shining white orbs in the near dark. For the first time since he'd arrived those eyes truly frightened her. There was none of the suppressed mirth she had seen in them before; only cold, calculating appraisal.

“I miss our talks when you're not here, Sister.” Even his voice was cold, flat, creeping around her in the dark like they were in an echo chamber.

Sister Mary kept up her chanting. When her final _Amen_ rang out in the silence he seemed to snap out of whatever trance she'd found him in. Again that toothy smile warmed up his face and his voice, when it came, was it's usual animated rumble.

“You gonna pray at me till your shift ends?” When she didn't reply his smile faltered. “I'm not the one you should be afraid of, Sister.” He said it matter-of-factly, then scooted back down under the blankets and closed his eyes.

She watched him with wide eyes for a few heartbeats. Her eyes must have been playing tricks on her, like they had on that first night. What other reasonable explanation could there be for his unearthly intuition? Perhaps he was a sleepwalker.

“I saw the photos. The ones you killed. All the things you did to them.” She didn't entirely know if she wanted a reply but after a few seconds he huffed and sat back up.

“No, you saw what you wanted to see. Same as the police. Anything to justify all that carnage.” He leaned his head back against the bed frame, let out a shaky sigh, then looked back at her. “I'm not a killer. I save people.”

“Save them by killing them?” She asked incredulously.

“The ones you saw... those pictures... No, they weren't people.”

“What does that even mean?”

“They were monsters.” A ghost of that cold gaze lit up his eyes.

“Like _you_?” She retorted.

He laughed bitterly. Shook his head in a way that said he'd been called a monster, and worse, before. Her reaction was expected.

“You don't know half as much as you think you do,” he whispered, not looking at her.

Back in the office, Sister Mary went straight for Syd's contraband liquor and took a swig from the bottle. After putting it back in it's hiding place she woke him gently.

“I'm just going to get some air. Keep an eye on things here for a few minutes.”

Syd eyed her suspiciously. Whether out of fear that she was going to quit nights or because he knew she'd been talking to Dean, she couldn't tell.

He was obviously puzzled by her behavior. Then he pursed his lips and shrugged. “Okay,” he cleared his throat. “Just don't take too long,” a less than friendly tone in his voice. Sister Mary didn't have the energy to puzzle over his strangeness right now. She had enough of Dean's cryptic words to figure out.

 

= = = =

 

This evening she was a woman on a mission. Something about the way Dean had called his victims monsters had been scratching at the back of her mind for the last week. She wanted to know what he meant. Wanted to understand what his reality looked like. If she understood his delusions perhaps she could help him.

The first hours of the shift droned on. She conducted her checks quietly and efficiently, barely even glancing into room 8 before closing the hatch again. She was letting her curiosity for this patient get the better of her. Causing her to neglect her work, her routines, but most of all, her hard-won self control.

By dinner break, at 11pm, she was starting to think her plan was a bad idea. Even Syd remarked on how little she ate and she mumbled back a half-hearted excuse that perhaps she was coming down with something. She didn't miss the slight flash of panic in his eyes at that. Syd had been acting even more odd than usual lately, and if he was going to bug out entirely she didn't think she could make this work. Things had to proceed as usual.

By two o'clock, Syd was nodding off in his chair as always. She was jumpy enough that when he let out a sudden snort, she almost leaped out of her chair – distubing a stack of reports she had been pretending to work on for the last hour. But Syd only settled deeper into sleep; now was her chance.

The hatch on the door to room 8 made the barest of noises as she opened it. He was sleeping, deeply by the sounds of his even breathing. For a few tense heartbeats she waited, willing him to notice she was there like he always did. Instead he let out a sigh and settled down further under the blankets.

“Dean,” she whispered. The word felt strange on her lips. She realized with a shiver that she'd never called him by his name before. “Dean!” She whispered again, louder.

He shifted, slowly lifting his head to look at her. Instead of his usual smile, she was greeted with a look of mild hostility. He sighed and sat up with an annoyed grunt.

“I thought you were pissed at me, Sister. Thought I'd scared you away.” He wasn't teasing her this time.

She took a steadying breath. “I want you to tell me your story.”

His irritation turned to surprise, then suspicion. “Why? So you can call me a monster again?”

“No!... No, I just want to... understand.”

“Oh, okay, you want to understand!” His anger was instant as he threw the blankets off, chain rattling when he swung his feet over the edge of the bed and stood. “You want me to tell you my life story,” he took a step towards her, “so you can _understand_ ,” another step, “that I'm not _crazy_ ,” another step, “only locked up in here unjustly,” another step,” for trying to _save_ people!” One last step and the chain brought him to a stop, stretched taught between the bed and his ankle. “So, Sister, what the _hell_ could I say that would make you understand?”

His eyes had gone feral. Sister Mary stifled a gasp and stood her ground. He still had a couple of feet before he reached the door, shackles hindering any further approach. Before a reply could be uttered Syd grabbed her arm, pushing her behind him, at which she let out a small yelp. He directed the flashlight beam through the open hatch, lighting up Dean's face like a spotlight.

“Back to bed. Now!” Syd's voice was controlled but a fine trembling in his arms defied him. The hand not holding the flashlight was curled so tightly into a fist it looked painful.

Dean smirked, squinting against the light. He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender and, without a word, lay back down. Syd slammed the hatch, metal clanging in a reverberated loop through the ward, seized Sister Mary by the arm and marched her back to the office, slamming the door behind them.

“What the hell were you doing?!” His voice was a bellow of sound, loud and angry. “He's a goddamn killer!”

“Do not take the Lord's name in vain!” Was all Sister Mary could spit back, taking a seat to hide her shaking legs.

“What were you thinking?” At her nonplussed reaction Syd continued. “I saw you reaching for your keys. You were gonna step right into that cell!”

“I was not-!” She began to protest, then stopped. Had she really been about to unlock the door? She didn't remember doing so, didn't even remember thinking about it. “He's chained, he can't get out.” She replied instead, lamely.

“Did you see how close he was to the door?” Syd pulled up a chair to sit opposite her. “He could have grabbed you if you'd stepped inside that room.” He ran a hand through his long ginger hair, anger receding into concern.

Sister Mary thought of a thousand different excuses, justifications for her wreckless actions. Instead of voicing any of them she said, “You're right. He's dangerous. I don't know what I was thinking.” She tacked on a weak smile to aid in convincing him.

A look of pure relief crossed Syd's face. He met her smile with a genuine one of his own.

“Perhaps you should take the last checks tonight. Okay?” She continued.

“Yeah.” He nodded, eyes shiny like he was fighting back tears. “I'll do that.”

Sister Mary let the issue go for a while. She stopped talking to Dean. She settled back into the hum-drum regimen of checks and reports. Of sitting through hours of mind-numbing nothingness that made up the night shift. Before, she used to take advantage of the quiet hours and pray. Pray for Syd and his blasphemous ways, pray for divine guidance as to how she could better help the patients at Roosevelt, and pray for fortitude against a world full of sin and temptation. Now her prayers were all but forgotten and a different obsession began taking hold of her. She did, however, take her bible with her to work every night. Carried it like a shield that would hide her inner thoughts from the outside world. A shield that would outwardly make her look more pious than ever, while inwardly she was slowly losing the battle against iniquity.

 


	4. An Echo Down Memory Lane

June had rolled in with a reinforced bout of warm weather. The sun was shining brighter, setting later. The wind was prefumed with all the scents of summer and Sister Mary Constance couldn't put this off any longer. She very much wanted to hear Dean's story but since Syd had interrupted them all those weeks ago Dean had barely looked at her, much less spoken to her.

For her part, Sister Mary had left it alone, as much to calm her own mind as to convince Syd that she had no self-destructive interest in Dean Winchester. An unhealthy interest she would admit to, at least in her own head, but destructive it was not. Despite his bouts of blood-chilling rage, she did firmly believe that there was no evil in the man. But the only way to know for sure was to hear the story in his own words.

She waited, as calmly and nonchalantly as she could, until Syd had fallen asleep again one balmy summer night. She must have been a convincing actress because Syd seemed to have forgotten about the incident. He didn't watch her from the corner of his eye any longer, appeared content that she had let go of her uncharacteristic compulsion - she had not. And to avoid a repeat of last time she had added a little sleeping aid to Syd's coffee. Now he was snoozing in earnest, head resting on a pillow of crumpled papers on the desk.

As she made her way to room 8 she said a little prayer for herself, asking forgiveness for the morally questionable decisions she was making lately. She had taken Syd's secret bourbon with her and a glass. A peace offering for Dean and a grave violation for her should anyone find out. Instead of opening the hatch, this time she unlocked his room – having removed the key from it's ring - and slid it into a deep pocket after closing the door. Wouldn't do to let him get his hands on it.

He didn't stir until the door clicked closed behind her. She stood with her back against it, waiting for him to look up. When he did he looked angry but she wouldn't let herself be perturbed.

“Peace offering,” she held up the bottle so he could see. “I'm sorry about last time, about Syd. He means well, but he just worries about me too much sometimes and he shouldn't have blamed you when I was the one who woke you and after that he kept a close eye on me and I had to act normal and I couldn't let on that I wanted to come back and talk with you–” She cut her rambling short when after realizing what she had just confessed to. To cover her embarrassment she poured some bourbon into the glass, recorked the bottle, set it on the floor next to the door, and held the drink out to Dean. “Anyway, I just wanted to apologize...”

Dean eyed the glass before getting up and taking it from her. When his fingers slid over hers, her breath came up short. He didn't seem to notice.

“He's sweet on you, ya know?” He said, moving back to sit on the bed.

“What?” Sister Mary was still thinking of how warm his hand had been and didn't entirely register his words. “Who? Syd?” She rasied her eyebrows quizzically.

“Yeah. Syd.” Dean hissed as the liquor burned down his throat. “Damn, I forgot how much this stuff burns going down. It's good though... and thanks.” He saluted her with the glass.

“You're welcome... What do you mean about Syd?”

He just smiled cryptically at her and finished the rest of his drink.

“He's not... sweet on me. He just... appreciates that I let him get away with almost anything.” She said it with mock confidence, not liking the turn of the conversation. She was here to talk about Dean.

He smiled wider, held out the glass to her. “Oh, he appreciates _way more_ than that, Sister.”

She took his glass, turning away to refill it to hide the blush racing up her cheeks. When she turned back to him, he was watching her. She handed him his drink.

“I want hear your story, Dean, not talk about Syd.”

He looked down, considered his words as if they could be found in the amber liquid. “You may be a nun, but don't tell me you're that oblivious.”

“I don't want to talk about me, either.” Her patience was fraying.

He looked up again. “Oh yeah, you wanna hear me spill all my secrets.”

“I want to hear your story.” She tried a new tack. “It's late already, I don't have long before Syd wakes up. Please.”

He raised a brow at the please, then sat back against the bed frame. “Okay, Sister, here's the deal. You want something from me, I want something from you.” At her frightened look he hastened to elaborate. “No, not _that_. I wanna make a phone call.”

“I can't let you out of your room. And the phone is in the office, it's too far for the cord to reach down here... I'm sorry.”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “I guess you won't be hearing my story then. Thanks for the drink though, appreciate it.”

“No, wait!” She blurted. His smile signaled victory. “If you just tell me who you want to call, I could do it for you.”

“I don't think that'll work. See, I have a lot to say... Thanks again for the drink.” He set the glass down on the floor between them then settled in as if to go back to sleep.

She closed her eyes and prayed for strength. Without opening them she spoke. “If you write it down, tell me who to call, would that work?”

She heard him sit up. “It might.”

She opened her eyes. “I'll bring you a pen and some paper. Tomorrow night. You have my word.”

“Okay, then,” he smiled cockily. “So what do you wanna know?”

She hesitated, then stepped closer. “How did you end up here?”

“Ah, well that's a long story. I couldn't tell you all of it in a few hours.”

“So just tell me what you can before I have to leave.” Desperation crept into her voice.

“Okay,” he settled more comfortably against the lumpy matress. “I'll start at the beginning.”

For the next two hours he told her about his childhood. About a father who was a mechanic and a mother who was a homemaker. About his little brother Sammy, whom he loved more than anything. He told her how when they were kids they had begged their parents to visit the Grand Canyon but every time they tried for a trip something came up. He told her how he used to read Sammy comics instead of bedtime stories. About how they would tease each other and pull pranks. He recounted his first love and his pain at the loss of her. How he was unwilling to follow his father into the family business. He wanted more out of life than a mechanic's tedium. She heard stories of Sam's big plans to go to college (which, Dean added, he managed to do on a full academic scholarship) and about his own struggles in school, how he didn't fit in.

When it was time for her to go she had asked if he would continue his story the next night. He had replied with a cheeky grin that it was 'a date', which made her smile and she walked along the darkened corridors of Roosevelt, feeling like she might actually be able to make a difference with this one.

 

= = = =

 

This time Dean was waiting for her when she entered his room.

“Did you bring the paper?” He asked without preamble.

Sister Mary pulled a legal pad from behind her back with a flourish, smiled when she saw him smile. He took the paper from her reverently, like it was a priceless gift and not just yellow paper with lines on it.

“Pen?” Dean asked.

“Pencil.” She dug one out of her pocket. “And a sharperner.” She gave them to him. “Don't make me regret it.”

“Nah, I won't.” He started scratching away on the pages.

For the first hour she watched him write. But when the clock started crawling towards two she cleared her throat. “Tick tock, Dean.”

That broke his concentration and for a moment he looked at her like he didn't know where he was, or who she was.

“Your story,” she prodded, still leaning against the door.

“Oh, yeah...” Carefully he put down the paper. “Where was I?”

“You'd just told me about highschool.”

“So...” He cleared his throat. “I ended up working with my dad at the garage. I spent a few years tuning engines and balancing tires. I was good at it but it bored me outta my skull. Sam graduated, shipped off to Stanford. Pre-law. Meanwhile, I was startin' to lose my mind working on car engines and shit day after day. I told my dad I needed to 'find myself'. Now he was an old shool hard-ass and just laughed at me. But I stood my ground, told him I wanted out of the business, out of Lawrence. I wanted to see that damned Grand Canyon.” He smiled at the memory but didn't continue.

“So did you? See the Grand Canyon?”

“Nah,” he shook his head. “Never made it... I hit the road like a bat outta hell. Travelled some, took odd jobs where I could find them. Even drove out to California to visit Sam. God, I was so proud of him. He was gonna make it. Make something out of himself. Be someone important. He'd met a really sweet girl, Jessica. Last I heard they got married...” A shadow passed over his face. He was quiet for several tense minutes before he briefly explained that he and Sam didn't talk anymore. After that he told her about his various jobs. He'd drifted for years, but had been blessed with so many enriching experiences along the way. At 26, he'd found his way back to Lawrence. The reunion with his father had been tense but amicable. John had even kept every postcard Dean had sent while he was away. Dean moved back in with his parents and for a few months returned to the garage to work alongside his father.

“It was great. I felt like I was myself again inside my own skin. I really needed those years away from home. I thought things had finally gotten to a place where I could be happy. Find a girl and settle down in my home town. Have Sunday dinner with my parents every week. Until I came home late one night and found them both dead.”

He spared her the details, would only say that the police couldn't help him. He'd investigated it himself and finally found the truth. The police couldn't solve the murder because they were looking for a human culprit.

“So,” Sister Mary said after a moments silence, “you found out how they really died?”

“Yeah.” He'd moved from the bed to stand and look out the barred window right above it. The faintest light illuminated his face, leaving most of it in pools of shadow. From where she stood Sister Mary could only see his silhoutted profile.

“How?” She breathed.

He tensed, barely visible in the dark. “Thing is, Sister. This is the part of my story that'll prove your faith in me.”

“Faith? I don't understand.”

He turned to look at her. “If I tell you and you don't believe me... well I'll only be digging a deeper hole for myself, and I'm already half way to China.”

“So... tell me... and I'll do my best to understand.”

“Vampires.” He looked her square in the eyes, face blank.

“I-I'm sorry... What?” Surely she heard wrong.

“Vampires killed my parents.” His voice was flat, no intonation, no emotion. Just four innocuous little words.

“Vampires,” she replied in the same monotone.

Dean flinched and looked back out the window, arms crossed over his chest. “Forget it.” He shook his head.

Of all the things he could have told her, 'Vampires killed my parents' was the last thing she had been expecting. The silence stretched between them, broken only when Dean snatched up the pages he had been writing on and scrunched them into a ball. “None of this matters anymore either.”

“No wait!” She pleaded just as he was about to throw the papers in the toilet.

He stopped, turned slowly to her. “What? You don't believe me. I won't tell you the rest of my story so you won't make that phone call for me.”

“I don't know what I believe any more.” She wrapped her hands around the crucifix hanging from her neck. “ _But_ ,” she continued when she saw him moving to discard the papers again, “I'm willing to hear what you have to say without passing judgement.”

Dean still didn't look entirely convinced, but a small glimmer of hope had crept into his eyes.

“And I'll still make that phone call for you,” she concluded.

They left it there. Dean was visibly upset and Sister Mary needed some time to wrap her head around the idea of vampires. She took the papers and writing paraphernalia from him, locked his cell and commenced to do the checks she had been neglecting.

Her mind was still mulling over the thought of vampire killers as she sat in the office smoothing out the papers Dean had filled with neat handwriting. Syd came to groggily just as she folded them and tucked them in her pocket.

“Sleep well?” She asked innocently.

“Yeah.” Syd stretched his slight frame. “What ya been up to?”

“Praying,” she said with a smile. A fine tremor of contentedness ran up her spine as she realized how easily the lie came to her.

 

= = = =

 

Sister Mary added less sleeping medicine to Syd's coffee this time. She worried that he would begin to suspect something if he kept waking up groggy from several more hours of sleep than he usually clocked on the job. She grabbed the legal pad and a pencil to take with her to Dean's room.

“I wasn't sure if you were done last night.” She handed them to him.

Dean took them graciously but didn't write. “So, you still think I'm cuckoo for cocoa puffs?”

“I already thought that.” She smiled awkwardly, her banter was rusty. “But you said you would tell me the truth, and I'm willing to believe that you'll tell me _your_ truth.”

“That's not exactly a resounding vote of confidence, Sister.” He tried to smile away the sadness in his tone.

“And it's not a blanket dismissal either.” Her words came out a bit sharper than intended so she softened her tone to amend the former slip. “So, a vampire killed your parents. What happened next?”

All the other times she had come to listen to his story she had kept her back firmly planted against the door, as far out of reach as she could get without leaving the room. She was breaking enough rules by just being in here with him, when she should have been back in the office filing reports or praying for everyone's redemption, so getting up close and personal with such a notorious patient was best avoided. He didn't need to be within touching distance to talk to her, but she would have felt disconnected from him standing outside the door. It also made the risk of discovery greater if he had to speak loud enough for her to hear him out in the corridor. So she made a personal compromise and stood apart from him, while she broke the rules of the institution; something she felt less and less troubled by. Despite all this, standing at her post, while he sat or lay on the bed, was becoming tiresome.

She started to fidget enough for Dean to notice. “You can sit down. I won't bite.” His smile, though surely meant to be reassuring, made her shake her head and stay where she was.

He cocked his head to the side. “You sure? Cause the fidgeting is kinda distracting me.”

She sighed and sat gingerly at the foot of the bed, so far down that she risked falling off. He gave her his cryptic smile again, then continued.

He'd tracked down the vampires that killed his parents and beheaded them all. But his life of hunting hadn't stopped there. Along the way he'd picked up tricks that helped give him an edge, made him better at what he did. And that was the thing: despite the tradgedy that had given him this new life, it felt right. He felt like he was always meant to be doing this. Like it was his true calling.

Sister Mary's innitial reaction to those words was to cry sacrilege. That this man would equate a life of death with the holy vows a person of the cloth took didn't sit well with her. All this she kept to herself.

 

 


	5. And On My Skin Left The Scent of Indignation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this chapter I'll add a warning for mild dub-con. If you have any triggers regarding dubious consent be warned that rape/implied rape is discussed (though does not actually happen, technically, in other words: it's not written as rape but people have different yard sticks so read carefully).

“So, I'd been hunting for about six months when I made my first big mistake,” Dean began the following night. Sister Mary was already perched on the end of the bed, listening intently.

When he was caught the first time he'd played along, escaped from the local jail and become a wanted man in Montana. It was another vampire case. He had taken out a small nest of them but failed to properly dispose of the remains. Though he lit the abandoned house on fire it hadn't gone up, and, since he had left thinking his job was done, he never noticed that the fire went out. Police and the fire department were called to the scene. A witness placed Dean in the immediate area just before the short-lived fire started. That was enough for the local PD to haul him off to a jail cell. He'd been shaken by the experience, but understood that getting on the wrong side of the law was inevitable as a hunter and, after escaping, was determined to become better at sweeping over his tracks.

Sister Mary said goodnight with a genuine smile as she left him that morning. He returned one of his own. As she walked across the grounds towards her dormitory, in the morning light, she was struck by how much she was growing to enjoy Dean's company. That thought alone should have been enough to stop her, instead it made her more determined to hear him out. Learn who he really was. She had, after all, promised that she wouldn't pass judgement until his tale was done.

 

= = = =

 

Over the previous two weeks Dean had recounted every facet of his life as a hunter. For every funny story there was a sad one.

He had kept hunting and stayed under the radar until about a year after his first run in with the law, when a ghost hunt left him in County lock up in Little Rock, Arkansas. That was the first time he met Agent Henriksen; the G man on some kind of holy mission to put away every psycho killer he could find. Especially Dean. He managed to escape that time too, much to Agent Henriksen's chargrin.

Eight months later and he had managed to evade Henrikssen at every turn, but after stumbling into a demon case in Monument, Colorado, he thought for sure that he was done. (Here Sister Mary had stopped him and asked with a note of fear if demon's were real? Dean had replied in the affirmative. She'd sat silently, staring at the floor for a good ten minutes after that.) The FBI agent with a bug up his ass caught him just as he finished exorcising the demon but the poor bastard it had been wearing didn't survive. That's how he ended up in a piss-stained cell down at the local Sherriff's office, while Henriksen negotiated extradition and transport. That's also when the rest of the demons showed up. He managed to convince Henriksen that everyone's life was in danger and together they got the drop on those evil sons of bitches. Dean thought for sure that Henriksen would give him a pass after that one, but instead he only gave Dean a week's head start.

Dean laid low for a few months after that. He took out a crocotta in Ohio and a crazy doctor in Pennsylvania who held the secret to eternal life. He still heard that bastard's screams at night when he went to sleep. Eternal life meant just that - he'd had to bury the man alive.

The next case to pique his vengeance was a rugaru in Carthage, Missouri, then a shapeshifter in Canonsburg, Pennsylvania, a few weeks later. That job was worth the drive. Oktoberfest had been a welcome respite. He took out a siren in Iowa and ghouls in Minnesota. Unfortunately, they left gory enough remains that he once again had the cops on his trail, including the intrepid Agent Henriksen. At this point he was wanted in at least four states. By the time he took on a wraith case in Ketchum, Oklahoma a year later he thought for sure law enforcement would have forgotten about him. No dice. Killing that sucker involved going undercover at a sanitarium and before he could finish the job and split, he was clapped in irons and, this time, hauled off to the pen. He got an eight month stretch for B&E, but none of the alleged 'murders' could be pinned on him and he got out after six. After that he tried to stay on the straight and narrow - he let his beard grow, hid his face behind a shaggy mop of hair, got a job fixing cars in a backwoods little town in Kansas, not far from Lawrence.

“I know you're story's almost done,” Sister Mary told him before she left that morning. “But I wanted to let you know that I've got my annual leave starting on Monday and I won't be back for two weeks.”

Dean's face had gone hard and closed off. He stared at her for a long time with an assessing look that somehow demanded an answer. The sudden flip in his demeanor from jovial to minatory was unsettling. “Talking to you is the only thing that's been keeping me sane in here. And now you're just gonna leave?”

Guilt flooded through her, brought unexpected and unwanted tears to her eyes. She wished that she could stay here and help him, listen to his voice and give him comfort, as he comforted her. Instead she gave in to cowardice.

“I'm sorry...” She left.

= = = =

 

After two weeks of rest and rejuvenation she heard through Syd's gossip grapevine that Dean had been troubled during her absence. A pang of guilt swept through her when she surmised that she was the reason.

That's why she approached his room with trepidation on the first night of her return, not sure what kind of reception she would get.

Inside Dean was strapped down again, like he had been during his first weeks at Roosevelt, clothed in a threadbare hospital gown. He wasn't sedated, but he lay on the bed in a listless fashion, as though he had spent days struggling against his bonds and finally tired.

“Dean?” She approached cautiously after closing the door.

His head was tilted back and she could see him swallow. Beyond that he ignored her.

Sister Mary sat next to him, wanting to reach out but not daring to. “I heard you weren't feeling well,” she ventured, voice hushed. “I'm sorry to see you like this.” And she realized that she was as tears welled up in her eyes. This wasn't the Dean she knew. This once vital man, despite his incarceration, had now been sapped of all of himself. Still he wouldn't look at her.

She turned a teary glance back at the door before reaching to unshackle his left wrist. Nothing. No reaction. After she had unfettered both wrists and ankles she stepped back to the foot of the bed, watched him breathe for a few tense minutes. His first movement was to flex his hands, then slowly he sat up. His eyes burned colder than an arctic winter. They were the epitome of the saying 'if looks could kill'. She clutched her crucifix out of habit, fearing that he would unleash that frigid anger on her bodily. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, not taking his eyes off her. When he stood and moved over the toilet in the corner his chilly gaze finally turned away. He began to relieve himself and she turned her back hurriedly.

The toilet flushed and she heard him pace a short distance across the floor. Still she kept her back to him.

“Thanks,” he said coldly, after a few moments. “I'd been needing to piss for about an hour.”

Sister Mary ventured a look over her shoulder. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed belligerently over his chest.

She perched on the edge of the bed, opposite him. Only a few feet seperated them but it could just as well have been a mile he was so closed off.

“I'm sorry,” she said emphatically. “I couldn't say no to my vacation, it would have raised too many suspicions. I'm sorry it was... difficult for you while I was gone.” An unexpected tear fell wetly down her cheek and that's when Dean broke, stepped away from the wall and knelt in front of her, burying his face in her lap. His arms wrapped around her waist as she carded her fingers through his hair, soothing him as best she could.

Sister Mary was surprised that she didn't feel the need to recoil from his embrace. Rather, it felt like a natural progression. She didn't know how long they sat like that but the silence stretched to infinity and back before Dean spoke.

“You just left,” he said quietly, almost no inflection in his voice. But Sister Mary understood the implied accusation. “I told you that our talks were the only thing keeping me sane.” He looked up at her. “How could you just leave?”

She met his beseeching gaze with tear-filled eyes and had no answers for him. The truth was that she looked forward to her leave every summer, needed it to recharge her soul. She had revelled in being out of the Asylum, of walking in the warm summer sunshine, having time for prayer and reflection over the good things in her life. She never realized how draining it was to work in the South Ward until she wasn't there. She had gone into town, spent time with Syd – who also took his two weeks with her – had coffee and laughed.

“I needed you here, with me, in the dark.” Dean kept looking intensely at her.

Some look must have crossed her face, betraying her inner thoughts, because suddenly the humanity drained from his face, leaving it cold and hard.

“Do you ever have unclean thoughts, Sister?” Dean released his hold on her waist, slid his hands down to loosely clasp her ankles.

She didn't entirely know where this was going. Nowhere appropriate, certainly, yet she thrilled at his touch.

“Or does the love of your Jesus Christ keep you warm at night in your lonely bed?” As he spoke his hands slid up her legs, under the hem of her dress, rounded her knees and came to rest on her thighs, on the bare skin above her stockings.

“You're oblivious to that scrawny little orderly,” he continued. His hands were a warm, heavy weight on her legs, under the black cloth of her dress, gently coaxing them apart. “And you're oblivious to me.” His thumbs dug into the hollows at the upper junction of her thighs, pressing against her skin like they were trying to find a pulse point along her femoral artery.

She tensed, suppressed a shudder threatening to run through her. Her breath caught in her throat and she had no idea what to reply to his accusation.

“I dreamed about you,” he breathed, leaning his weight against her knees, pushing her legs further apart until his chest was framed between them. “Every night.” He plunged a thumb against her and she sucked in a breath like her lungs were starved for air. “What did you dream about, Sister?” His voice dropped to a seductive purr as he rubbed his thumb against her through the soft cotton of her panties.

The shudder she had been suppressing spasmed through her at the alien sensation. She screwed her eyes shut, pushing tears out over her cheeks.

“I don't... I didn't... dream about you.” She got out between laboured breaths. She was beginning to have more sympathy for Roy's nasty habit.

“Then let me give you something to dream about.” He pushed her back against the bed then wrenched her underwear off, pushed the hem of her dress up around her waist and pressed her legs apart at a painful angle. When he plunged his mouth against her she let out a harsh gasp, curling her fingers around the edge of the matress.

For every stroke of his tongue he pushed her closer towards the edge. It built like a burgeoning glow between her legs that sent a sharp jolt of sensation through her body every time his skin touched hers. Sharper and stronger, leaving her panting, until she thought she would explode with the ardour of it. His hands held her thighs in a vice-like grip as she tensed, as he incited her release, breath hot against her sensitized flesh.

Her skin tingled as she lay trembling in the wake of his succour. Gently, he pried her hands out of their death grip on the matress. She summoned what little strength she had left to raise up on her elbows, saw his chin glistening with her wetness. Tears still streamed down her face, and though the pleasure was undeniable, her guilt overrode any contentment she could feel about what had transpired.

Dean met her shame with a look of solicitude. He wiped a tear away with his thumb. “Now you can ache for me.” His tone was harsh where his eyes were soft.

She felt ill - scrambled to get up, get passed him. Had enough wherewithal to snatch her underwear from the floor before running out the door. She didn't care if her footfalls echoed through the ward this time. She ran. Ran to the shower room to splash water over her face, before sliding to the floor next to the sink and letting go a torrent of tears. When the shock had subsided, she pulled herself up, turned on the hot water tap to gushing and cleaned herself off. She wanted to wash the taint off her skin, expunge the sin. She had pulled on her underwear, and was staring at her hollow face in the mirror when she saw movement in the corner of her eye.

Syd stood by the door, eyes wide and face so pale his freckles seemed to float above the skin. He must have seen room 8's open door when he crossed the hall from the office. She didn't know how long he had been standing there, if he had seen where she cleaned herself, but the look in his eyes said clearly that he _knew_.

“You want me to strap him back down?” His voice belied a supressed rage as he strained for a casual tone. She had been expecting that fury to be directed at her. She wanted to say no, that she would rectify her own mistake, but at the thought of returning to that room her legs turned to jello. Outwardly it must have made the precariousness of her situation seem even more nefarious, inwardly - and despite her guilt - she knew that she wouldn't be able to stop herself from taking more libidinous touches from Dean.

Syd nodded too fast, a slight panic flashing in his eyes, turned on his heel and left. She crumpled to the floor, forehead leaning against the cool procelain of the sink for a long time. When Syd returned his hands were shaking, a sheen of sweat across his face. He gripped her under the arms and hoisted her up.

“Come on.” He steered her back to the office, set her down in a chair and fished out his bourbon; poured a decent amount for both of them. He shoved the glass into her hands and told her to drink in no uncertain terms.

She drank the contents in one gulp, grimacing as it stung her throat, kindled in her belly, dousing the remaining shock. In the light of the small room she could see a faint smattering of blood on Syd's white shirt-sleeve.

“What did you do?” Her eyes were wide.

“What I had to.” He poured himself another drink, breathing hard. “He's alive, just fucked up. I'll file a report saying he caused a disturbance. That force was needed to subdue him. Just another rowdy patient, no one has to know the truth.”

“And what do you think the truth is, Syd?” She was less concerned with his answer than she should be. By now the liquor had worked it's magic, making her comfortably numb.

“He forced himself on you.” Syd said with manic conviction. “You're curiosity got the better of you and he took advantage of it.”

“Oh, Syd...” She buried her face in her hands. How could she tell him the truth? He was seething with anger, protecting her virtue through some kind of misplaced love. For all the lies she had told, what was one more? One pathetic little lie to protect herself at the cost of another man's freedom and sanity. One little sin. The oddity of this one was that she no longer cared. Even through everything that had happened that night the only thing that kindled any regret in her was not getting to hear the rest of Dean's story. For he would surely never speak to her again after this. He must have thought that she sent Syd to do her dirty work.

She pushed the thoughts away.

“You should go home.” Syd hade been talking for a while. “I'll file the report, tell them that the whole incident upset you and you needed to leave... Or maybe that'll make them take you off night shift! I don't want that. Ok, can you stay the rest of the night?” He paused in his pacing to glance at her but he was talking more to himself than to her. She nodded. “Okay, you'll stay till six, we'll just carry on like nothing happened. No one need's to know. No one – they'll never find out. That fucking psycho! I should have beaten him to death for what he did!” His voice had taken on a frantic edge halfway though his ranting.

“Syd...” She interrupted him wearily.

No reaction.

“Syd!” She all but shouted, rising from her chair and shaking him. “Calm down! I'm fine. We're fine! He didn't rape me!” She held his gaze, waiting for the inevitable erruption of anger. She couldn't let Dean take the fall for her trangression after all.

“What...?” He blinked at her.

“He didn't rape me.” She said it slower, more clearly, willing him to get it. Her hands fell away. “I let him touch me.” She felt the blush burn up her face. Saying it out loud made it seem so much dirtier.

Syd stared at her for a long moment. “Why, Sister?” He said finally. "Why would you let that monster touch you?” He lifted a hand as if to touch her face, but stopped mid-motion.

“He's not a monster.” Sister Mary sat back down, dejectedly. “I didn't exaclty plan for it to happen, but it... did.” At Syd's angry look she hastened to add, “I know that my reaction must have made it seem worse than it was. I'm sorry... but why did you have to punish him for my mistake?”


	6. You're The Right Kind Of Sinner

Syd had been watching her like a hawk for the last few weeks. In all honesty Sister Mary welcomed it. It helped her stave off the temptation to visit Dean again and she didn't think he would talk to her anyway. The stark withdrawal of Dean's company left her questioning how the entire asylum had shrunk down to one pinpoint of attentiveness, to one man that on the surface was no different than any other. Why him? Why now? Sadly, no answers were forthcoming. She let Syd take all the checks at first, easing back into it after a while. Since his return from the infirmary Dean hadn't looked at her or even acknowledged her presence.

July had ended and August had begun, heralding the slow end of summer. The days were getting shorter and though the air still held all the balminess of summer, an approaching chill could be felt once the sun went down. It was this chill that followed Sister Mary to work four weeks after her tryst with Dean.

Syd had taken to staying awake all night after it happened. Sister Mary knew it was, at least in part, because he didn't trust her. Perhaps because he trusted Dean less. It amazed her that someone else's miss-step was the catalyst that managed to turn Syd into a dutiful employee. But tonight she needed him out of her hair and she knew that drugging him again would destroy any pretense of her reformed behaviour. She had stayed away long enough and needed no more than five minutes with Dean. She wanted to apologize, to make sure that he understood it wasn't by her request that Syd had beaten him sensless. That misreckoning was on Syd, and she _would_ throw him under the bus for it.

By 10pm she was getting anxious. Nothing she could think of would allow her the chance to slip away unnoticed. She was at her wit's end, ready to just march down to Dean's room and risk discovery, when the phone shrilled. She swallowed nervously and looked at Syd. He went to answer it and within seconds it became apparent that something serious was going on in another part of the asylum. Serious enough that all available orderlies were being called in to help.

Syd slammed the reciever back in it's cradle. “West Ward needs help, some fucking ruckus with a bunch of the patients.” He hurried towards the door then stopped, turned back to her. “Maybe I should stay here? I'm sure they can handle it without me.”

Sister Mary's prayers had been answered and she wasn't about to let this chance at solitude slip between her fingers. Come hell or high water she _would_ get Syd out of the ward.

“No, you should go.” She applied just the right balance of nonchalance and alarm to make him believe that her only concern was the safety of all concerned in the West Ward. “It sounds bad enough to need all hands on deck. I'll be fine.” She dug her nails surreptitiously into the palm of her hand to stop from beaming with gratitude.

Syd hesitated. “Okay,” he relented before leaving.

Sister Mary wanted to shout a prayer of thanks at the fortuitous turn of events. Instead she sat as calmly as she could at the desk, waiting an appropriate amount of time before venturing out into the ward. She wanted to be absolutely certain that Syd was gone before she headed to room 8.

The blanket was tangled around Dean's legs and his t-shirt had ridden up his waist, exposing a pale sliver of flesh. She sat as carefully as she could next to him, one hand wavering over that naked bit of skin, wanting to press down. The will to touch him was driven by a base instinct that her faith in God could no longer entirely curb. To touch him as he had touched her. Memories of his hands on her, his mouth on her, heated her cheeks, made her hand tremble.

So mesmerized was she by the urge to press her fingers over the hollow of his belly button that when _his_ fingers wrapped around her wrist, she jolted in surprise, immediate reaction to pull her hand away, but it was held prisoner in Dean's large fist.

He didn't speak, merely held her gaze, as he guided her hand down to his stomach. His skin was warm under her palm and she could feel her own hectic pulse reflected there. She gave only token resistance but when he started pushing her hand under the T-shirt, up his chest, she snatched it back. Dean released her without argument.

“I'm pretty sure molesting the patients is against the rules.” His voice held threat where it used to hold jest.

The breath she had been holding whooshed out audibly.

“So did you come here to bad-touch me or apologize?” He raised an eyebrow, skin there still mottled with the remnants of a bruise. The last vestiges of his scrimmage with Syd.

“Apologize,” she said, almost a question.

He narrowed his eyes, sitting up and leaning forward, face inches from hers.

“You're a wanton, and a liar.” His voice was a dark rumble, barely more than a whisper.

He leaned in closer until their lips were a breath apart. Sister Mary wanted nothing more in that moment than to close the distance between them, give in to the desire unfurling inside her, but she didn't know how much time she had before Syd returned and she had to focus on why she was there.

“No,” she pushed him away. “I _did_ come to apologize. I'm sorry for what Syd did to you. He saw me leave your room and – my reaction – he thought the worst... but I _didn't_ tell him to do that to you, I swear!”

Dean wasn't convinced. She searched his face, praying he would see her candour. She was undeniably what he accused her of - had lied more since meeting him than she had in her entire life. She had always strived to lead a virtuous life. Even before her admittance into the church she had never been wanton. She wasn't a virgin, but only one man had known her before she gave her body and soul over to Christ. Until she met Dean. How had this seemingly innocuous man, with his antithetical reputation, brought a lifetime of conviction to dubiety?

“I don't entirely regret what you did, but by doing... that, I broke my vows. It's not something I can just shrug off.”

“What _I_ did? I don't exactly remember you trying to stop me.” Dean interjected.

“No, I didn't. I allowed it to happen, I even wanted it.” Her gaze fell to his lips. “I still do...”

He leaned forward again. “Your ache is showing.”

Sister Mary shoved him away this time so that he fell back against the bed.

“Fine, sure, a _part_ of me does ache for you. But the only thing I can do now is ask for forgiveness and pray that you believe me.”

Dean looked up at her with an expression she couldn't discern.

“Fine, I believe you.” He said in a measured tone. “But I'll _forgive_ you when you make that phone call for me.”

“I'll make the phone call when you finish your story.” She said and left.

 

= = = =

 

Getting a chance to hear the rest of Dean's story proved more difficult than Sister Mary had imagined. Almost three weeks had passed and there had been no chance to be alone with him again. Syd was still being over-protective, though her exit from Dean's room that night had preceded his return from the West Ward kerfuffle.

As day after day wore on she became anxious, worried that Dean would think she was avoiding him on purpose. Her only chance at any communication was during checks and, since Syd was still being vigilant, she couldn't risk lingering more than a few minutes at his door each time. Precious minutes that were not enough to convey anything of real import. She could, however, stop fretting and at least explain to Dean why she hadn't come to visit him.

“Okay, Sister.” Was his blasé response before going back to sleep.

This did little to quell Sister Mary's concerns.

 

= = = =

 

Halloween came and went and still no chance at a lengthy visit. A few whispered words through the door was the only substantial communication they shared. Their own twisted version of 'sweet nothings'. She had even taken to dragging her feet during checks, just to make those few extra minutes at Dean's door less suspicious.

Syd had finally backed off enough to give her some breathing space but his naps were still a sporadic occurance. No more emergencies had dragged him elsewhere and, though desperately wanting to risk slipping something into his coffee, she was simply too scared that he would notice.

If Sister Mary took a good hard look at herself she could see how far she had fallen from grace and that fact filled her with appropriate Catholic guilt, yet a small part of her still thrilled at the memory of Dean's heated touch. Whenever she caught herself reminiscing she pushed it away and turned to a good hour of castigated prayer.

Dean himself began to act differently. He was listless, disconnected. He slept like the dead, no more cat like reflexes or pre-visit intuition. She would have to call his name alarmingly loud, several times, before he was roused enough to talk. She tried to ask Syd if he had heard anything from Marv, but nothing apparently untoward was going on during dayshift.

She tried writing it off as the shortening days and colder weather taking their toll. Maybe Christmas approaching was a factor too, and Dean not being able to take part in it. Though considering he had practically no family to speak of, she couldn't imagine it was a holiday he routinely celebrated.

 

= = = =

 

After Thanksgiving, Sister Mary was beginning to fear speaking with Dean again was a lost cause. She had developed a distaste for the routines that were once the cornerstones of her existence; coming to work was now a chore. She didn't feel that helping the patients was central to her calling any more. But she did feel that helping Dean was.

Months of mind-numbing repetition had at least reinstated some of her wavering faith, but her easy friendship with Syd had soured. They passed the working hours with a minimum of communication. Syd began napping more, paying less attention to her. Still she didn't dare go to Dean.

In a long overdue turn of good luck Sister Mary was met by Carl, the lecherous orderly, when she came to work one evening just before the end of November.

“Where's Syd?” She asked.

“He's sick. Gonna be home at least for tonight. Since we're all spread a little thin at the moment the Doc thought it would be okay for you to take the night shift alone. At least for a day or two. If Syd doesn't get better we'll find a substitute.”

She chose her words carefully before answering. “Well, Roy is in the infirmary, and Jimmy's so heavily sedated he won't be a problem... I'm sure I'll be fine for a few days. It will give me time to pray for all the poor lost souls.” Internally she rolled her eyes at how silly she sounded but it was apparently more than enough to convince Carl.

“Call if you need any help.” He said before leaving.

Sister Mary pulled the phone out into the corridor, setting it on the floor as far away from the office as the cord would allow. She should be able to hear it if she left the door to room 8 ajar. Thirty minutes into her shift she unlocked Dean's room and stepped inside.

 


	7. First You Must Learn How To Smile As You Kill

For a few months Dean had been content to stay out of the life. But the itch demanded to be scratched and when a fellow hunter rolled into town one day in early July he let himself be pulled back into the nomadic quest. He headed to Cicero, Indiana to take out a djinn.

He worked solo after that hunt, taking out a vampire and a goddess called Veritas, both in Illinois, in close succession. By the time November rolled around his cases had dried up and he was back to scrounging for honest work where he could find it. He'd just finished a two week stint on a construction site when he got wind of a new case in Rhode Island. Something no one had ever heard of before. But Dean was game to take it on.

He rolled into Bristol on the third day of December, 1957, not nowing what he'd find but ready for bear. After a few days of investigation it turned out to be an Arachne. A nasty creature that had come to town in search of a mate. Dean managed to dispatch it, but the ensuing fire – the one meant to cover his tracks – landed him in prison on an arson wrap. He did seven months, only getting out on a technicality.

After that he was back to drifting. His permanent record was amassing a number of serious crimes and honest work was getting harder to find. He earned money by hustling pool, by playing high stakes card games; which, thankfully, he had a natural knack for. The money wasn't great but it was enough to keep him in gas, booze and motel rooms as he traversed the nation taking job after job.

Nebraska, Missouri and New York State were a few of the locations he passed through before the new year began. He welcomed 1959 like a hole in the head, but he did hope for continued anonymity. Amazons, two vetalas, a very human sorcerer and a few cursed objects later he was driving towards Junction City, Kansas to take out another unknown baddie.

This one turned out to be a booze monster, a Shojo. Dean would have laughed at the irony of that one if it hadn't been his ass on the line. On this job Dean teamed up with a scrawny, unassuming hunter called Garth. Garth drove him up the wall more often than not, but he wasn't entirely bad at his job. In the process of taking out the aforementioned spirit, Garth had the brilliant idea to kidnap the owner of the brewery where it lurked, and even after promises to not call the cops the bastard did just that. A week after leaving Junction City, Dean had the cops on his ass again, including the intrepid Agent Henriksen. Garth was in the wind and the pigs caught up with him two states over. This go around he landed the hardest time up to that point: 13 months in the prison that God forgot in the backwoods of Maine, for kidnapping, and Henriksen's promise to keep him locked away for a blood curdling amount of murders, if he had any say in the matter. No murder charges surfaced and 13 months later Dean was once again a free man.

For the first time since beginning his incredible tale, Dean had recited the events without passion. But when he told her of the brother in arms he had forged a strong bond with in Purgatory – the prison's nickname amongst it's detainees – avidity crept back into his voice. Benny had stayed by his side no matter how dire the circumstances became. They'd had each other's backs through several prison fights and even when one disgruntled hunter, also serving time, deigned to get up in Dean's face, accusing him of landing him in there.

As it happened, Benny was granted early release on the same day as Dean. Together they set off, as far away from Maine as they could get, as fast as possible. During his incarceration, Dean had confided in Benny, told him essentially the same recollection of events that he now reiterated to Sister Mary, and Benny had believed him.

A thousand year old Mayan god was Benny's initation into the hunting trade and after a side trip to take care of some werewolves in Michigan, Dean agreed to follow Benny to Prentiss Island, Washington, so that he could take care of some unfinished business.

That business involved getting revenge on the gang leader who had killed Benny's fiancé and framed him with the murder; the charge that had landed Benny in Purgatory. They ended their first year of freedom and hunting with a spectre in Kearny, Missouri and then vamps in Carencro, Louisiana, Benny's home town.

In early 1961, a cop by the name of James Frampton contacted Dean in search of assistance. Dean hadn't managed to get on the wrong side of the law on every hunt. In this case he had crossed paths with Det. Frampton back in St. Louis a few years prior. Frampton was one of the first law enforcement officers to believe Dean's fantastical anecdotes. The experience had left him intrigued by the world of the supernatural and it was this entanglement that now called for Dean's help. He took Benny and hauled ass to answer the call.

After helping to dispatch Frampton's magical foe, Dean and Benny found themselves working another case in Conway Springs, Kansas. Funny, Dean had thought, how much preternatural shit went on there. That's when he met Krissy; the daughter of a hunter, who fancied herself one as well. She had thrown herself head long into the life after her father's death. Barely 18, Dean had helped her, but told her sternly that she needed be careful to not let vengeance be her end. The vampire nest was more exstensive than they had thought, and this oversight led to Benny's untimely demise. First his parents and now Benny. Over Benny's funeral pyre Dean reavowed his oath to destroy every goddamn fang he could find.

Benny's death and Krissy's indeterminate but bleak future took more of a toll than Dean would normally admit to. The quietus of that which he hunted had started to bleed over to take those that he grew close to. He was the only one still here. It disconcerted him. He may not have grown up in the life, but when those bloodsuckers had shattered his world, Dean embraced the hunter's wretched existence down to the last tendril of his soul. Maybe it was this fatalistic proclivity that led him to conventional but iniquitous employment.

As March of 1961 drew to a close, Benny's passing still weighing on his soul, Dean ran afoul of a certain Mr. Ezekiel 'Zeke' Gadreel. The increasingly notorious ringleader for Fallen Angels, an up an coming brotherhood of generally really bad types with a passion for mayhem and legally dodgy activities; think Hell's Angels without the motorcycles. No, this cartel hid behind position and wealth, Mr. Gadreel calling the shots from his legal corporation's unblemished facade. He may have been a prominent business man, but Mr. Gadreel wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty if needed, though he made sure to never be the one actually pulling the trigger.

Dean began doing odd jobs, at first thinking the work generally within the law. When he got bumped up a notch on the ladder he began to realize just how far a growing crime syndicate's fingers could reach. After six months of loyal work it came to Dean to take out a rival's right hand man. The unspoken word was assasinate, and though Dean had killed in cold blood before, gunning down a very human slime ball didn't sit well with his moral compass. He booked it, got back to hunting, and put Mr. Gadreel and his lackeys as far in his rearview mirror as he could.

In November of '61 he ran across Garth again, newly turned into a werewolf and living with a pack of peaceful furballs in Grantsburg, Wisconsin. The little shit had left Dean to rot in prison for over a year, but he thought that becoming the hunted was punishment enough. Before leaving, Dean told Garth in no uncertain terms that if he ever heard the faintest rumor of him killing people he _would_ destroy him.

Christmas saw him battling demons again, in Milton, Illinois. The police got wind of this one and now he had Mr. Gadreel _and_ the FBI on his tail. Just after New Year he found a vamp case in O'Neill, Nebraska, pretty standard, but this time Henriksen was waiting for him.

Dean had charged through the last portion of his story. Now he paused, letting the silence add to the anticipation. He had only one bit left to tell: how he had ended up at Roosevelt.

“So what happened?” Sister Mary asked reverently.

“I'd tracked the nest to this really nice house in the better part of town. These fangs really liked their creature comforts,” he smiled at the pun. “And I'm checking the perimeter, trying to find a way in that'll give me the upper hand. I go in through the basement, creep upstairs checking room after room... Finding nothing. Not one fang. If you knew what to look for you could see some signs of a nest, but the place was clean, way too clean. I should have suspected something right there...” He shook his head regretfully at his rookie mistake.

“So, I've got my machete, big ass hunting knife, in my hand when I turn the corner into the dining room, and I'm met by the barrels of about fifteen guns. With angry lookin' cops behind them, and Henriksen's just sitting there at the head of the table like some freakin' king, smug-ass smirk on his face.” Dean's eyes flashed anger at the recollection, then softened as he continued.

“I'm so damn shocked I just let the blade fall to the floor, it was like everything happened in slow motion. I'm clapped in irons and hauled off to jail. But Henriksen's prepared this time. I'd given him the slip one too many times, and I know he was still sore for never catching me after that head start from years before. I've got cops outside my cell, won't even leave me alone to take a piss. And then Henrikssen walks in all cocky, waxing lyrical about how he finally caught Dean Winchester.”

A shadow passed behind his eyes. This was not a pleasant memory for Dean and though he'd committed to telling her everything, she sensed that he would rather skip this part of the story.

“Now I'm looking at a few life sentences, probably even a decade or two on death row before they fry me, if the jury feels like it. And I'm pretty damn good at escaping police custody, but I can't get a second alone to even pick the damn cuffs. It's all adding up to one dead end street, leading straight to prison...” He quieted again.

Sister Mary didn't know whether to prod him or let him keep talking on his own. A glance at her watch told her that it was nearing 5:30, they'd been talking all night, and she just wanted it to be done. She was about to mention the time when Dean picked up again.

“So I finally thought: What the hell? I'll tell them the truth this time. Can't get much worse... man was I wrong.” Dean cleared his throat. “Henriksen already knew that parts of it were true, he'd seen it himself, and he listened for three days as I told him what I've told you, minus all the childhood stuff, and the emotional crap. I gave him straight facts, no embellishment. After I'm done he looks me square in the eyes and tells me he's sorry. Nothing else, just takes his files and leaves. The next day I'm moved to the local psychiatric ward with a four man security detail and no one giving me any answers.”

Dean scrubbed a hand down his face, rubbing at his eyes. Sister Mary expected he was fighting back tears, but when he looked at her again they were cold and resolute.

“I spent two months there. No trial, no more Henriksen. No one telling me a damned thing about what's going to happen to me. And then one day I snapped. They'd unstrapped me to let me shower and I took my chance. I lunged past the orderlies, took 'em by surprise, and I'm tearing past the guards, grappling like a son of a bitch when they catch me and try to drag me back. One of them must have clubbed me over the head, cause everything went black... And when I woke up I was here.”

Sister Mary had promised not to pass judgement until his entire story was revealed. Now as she sat in the silence, she couldn't think of a thing to say, much less judge whether she believed him or not. She stared dumfoundedly at him as the seconds ticked by in silence. She knew she had to go soon, neglected checks needed to be done before she went home, and she had promised to make that phone call for him. She needed a little while to digest everything he'd said before she could do that.

“Do you know what the first thing I saw was?” Dean broke the silence, voice so soft it almost trembled. “It was you.”

So his eyes _had_ been open that first night. “I have to go.” She squeezed his hand in assurance. “I'll be back tomorrow night.”

 

= = = =

 

He was sleeping the next night. Whether he was pumped full of sedatives or exhausted from the sleepness night before, Sister Mary didn't know, but hoped it was the latter. She let him sleep.

After her dinner break she moved the phone back out into the hallway and went to unlock Dean's room. He was doing push-ups next to the bed as she swung the door open, facing away from her. It afforded her a covert, unbroken view down the length of his body. Her eyes swept from his calves up across his back, she avoided lingering too long on his backside, to admire the corded muscle of his arms as they lowered him to the floor before pushing him back up again. The months of confinement had left him less stocky and more wirey. He had noticably lost weight but was still solid, like the years of honed physicality couldn't be erased so easily.

He stood and turned, looking at her with an expression saying clearly he'd known she was watching. The ghost of a smile curled across his lips.

“You seem to be feeling better.” She smiled.

“Hey, I gotta get in shape if I'm gonna break outta here.” He groaned as he sat. “But I should have started sooner, I'm gettin' flabby.”

She laughed, flabby he was not. “Better late than never, I guess. Especially since you've been sick.”

“I have?” He looked up at the ceiling, slightly confused, and sighed. “Yeah, well, I'm feeling better now, so... workout.”

Sister Mary laughed again, sat down next to him. Dean gave her a sidelong look.

“You're unsually calm. Did you get laid or something?” He chuckled, but stopped when he saw her reaction.

“That's not funny.” She said seriously.

He muttered an apology. She forgave him.

“Syd's sick. I'm working alone tonight.”

“And last night?” He queried.

“Yes, last night too.”

“So Syd's the one to blame for your absence.” He stated.

She shrugged. “He's been keeping a really close eye on me since we...” She bit her lip, words trailing off. Saying it out loud would give it power and she didn't want that, not sitting this close to him. Sitting close and knowing that there would be no interruptions. She shrugged again. “Don't be angry at him. He's definitely the lesser of two evils in this predicament. I could be working nights with Carl, and then I'd never even be let out of the office.” She laughed awkwardly.

Dean's face softened. “I guess you're right. Silver lining, huh?”

“Yes.” She said. He was looking off into nothingness; thoughts moving behind his eyes, barely there and then gone.

“So... how exactly were you planning on breaking out of here anyway?” Her humurous tone broke the silence a minute later.

“Trade secret.” He smiled at her. As so often happened with Dean, she couldn't tell if he was joking or not.

“Ah... Well, I'll let you work on your grand plan then.” She stood. Left him to his thoughts.

 

= = = =

 

Syd was back at work the following Monday, and so Sister Mary's freedom ended. That fact didn't bother her as much as she thought it would. She had heard all of Dean's story and needed nothing more from him. Nothing that could be gained under their present circumstances at least. And she was still working out how much of his fantastic tale that she believed – or at least was willing to let herself believe.

Syd was still not on entirely friendly terms with her and she was oddly okay with that as well. If Dean's words had been true and Syd indeed was interested in her then _no_ friendship was better than one in which he eternally hoped for more than she was willing to give. Even if she was to take her holy vows out of the equation entirely, she had no room in her heart for another man. She had shoved out enough of her faith to make room for Dean, she certainly wouldn't make room for one more. The measure of her guilt at that emotional eviction had been lessening – a fact that ironically made her feel more guilty - and so as Christmas came and went she focused on her prayers and on her work. When she was asked to help with the Christmas Day services she happily accepted and hoped that showing stalwart conviction to others would help bolster it within herself.

 


	8. For Every Lie The Truth Lay Underneath It

The new year brought a myriad new possibilities. This endless horizon of self improvement and absolution was not lost on any of the Sister's stationed at Roosevelt. In practice Sister Mary was only concerned with reaching Dean's brother so she could hold up her end of the bargain.

Her fingers were shaking as she turned the dial on the old bakelite phone, the out of state number written on a piece of paper next to it. The phone rang and rang on the other end, until finally a woman answered.

“Milton, Lucas and Winchester. How may I help you?” Her voice was the rehearsed pleasentness of repetition.

“Um, hello, I'd like to speak with Mr. Winchester – Sam Winchester – please.” Sister Mary bit her lip. She had to master her nerves.

“Mr. Winchester is in a meeting. May I take a message?” The secretary was polite but it sounded like something she had to say often.

Sister Mary hesitated. She couldn't give too many details in a message, but if she was too vague Sam may not call back. She put on her best professional voice. “I'm calling on behalf of his brother Dean. It's very important that I reach Mr. Winchester. Some new evidence has come to light regarding his brother's case and I need to consult with him as soon as possible.”

The background scratching of the secretary's pen had stopped at the mention of Dean's name. Sister Mary could practically hear her brain fumbling on the other end of the phone. This was punctuated by the silence that stretched a little too long before she answered.

“His brother's case... ah, yes, of course.” The turnaround from routine politeness to blustered was impressive. Sister Mary's confidence rose a notch. “Where can he reach you?”

She gave the secretary her number. “He can reach me here until eight, if he can't call before that he can reach me on weekdays between twelve and eight, or anytime at the weekend.”

“Of course. I'll let him know.” The secretary had regained her composure and was back to curt professionalism. “And your name?”

Sister Mary hesitated again. She didn't want to identify herself as a nun, it just didn't feel right. “Mary Kendall.” She gave her old surname before she could change her mind. The secretary 'mm-hmm-ed' before promising that Mr. Winchester would get back to her as soon as possible.

Sister Mary decided not to tell Dean about the phone call until Sam got back to her, if he did at all. She didn't want to get his hopes up for nothing.

 

= = = =

 

A distant ringing woke her from sleep. The persistent shrill of it was enough to rebuff any chance she had of falling back into blissfull unconciousness. She groaned and cracked an eye at the bedside clock. She had slept only three hours since collapsing onto her pillow after her shift ended. Mid-morning sun filtered through the flimsy curtains as she sat up and cast an annoyed glance at the other sleeping Sisters in the room. Why couldn't one of them get up and answer it? She pulled on a robe and hurried into the kitchen, unhooking the receiver from it's cradle, answering groggily.

“Yes?” Was all she could muster.

“I'd like to speak with Mary Kendall.” The voice was polite but demanding.

It took Sister Mary a few beats to wake up enough to connect the dots. Thank goodness she had answered the phone after all.

“This is she.” Her voice was clearer now, forced into alertness with her increasing pulse. Over a week had passed since she made the call to his Los Angeles office and, frankly, she had given up hope of ever speaking to the high profile lawyer that was Sam Winchester.

“My secretary left a message that you had called regarding my brother. Something about his case,” the way he said 'case' indicated that he knew she was lying about that much, “and needing to speak with me.” He stopped abruptly, the silence demanding an answer.

“Yes, that's right,” she replied guardedly.

“Now since I never once handled my brother's case I'm damn surprised that I'm being contacted about a 'new development'. So,” she could hear the lawyer seep into his tone, thought how commanding he must be in a court room, “who exactly are you and why are you calling me about my brother?”

Her stomach lurched. This might be her only chance to convince Sam and she realized how crazy it all sounded, but she had to try.

“My name is Sister Mary Constance and I work at Roosevelt Asylum in Illinois. You brother has been here since March. He asked me to call you.” She blurted the words out faster and faster, hoping to get to the point before Sam hung up on her. “He wrote down everything he needed me to tell you. If you'll please just let me get it I can explain this a lot more clearly.”

Sam made an impatient noise of assent and she ran back to her room, tore open her closet and dug into the pocket of her winter coat to retrieve Dean's pages. She hurried back and began reciting. After only four sentences of the three page diatribe Sam interrupted her.

“I'm sure you mean well, Sister, but my brother is a very troubled man. If he's beeing held in an institution for the mentally ill I'm sure he's done something to justify it. Now, if you'll excuse me I have client meetings and really have to go.”

His dismissal was like a cold slap in the face. She'd done wrong towards Dean but if she could just get his brother to understand, to maybe speak with Dean, she felt that she had done something to amend her mistakes.

“No, wait! Please!” She all but shouted, thankful now that the other Sisters were heavy sleepers. “I know he seems crazy but I've been working with his rehabilitation for a while now and I promise you I wouldn't be calling if I thought he was beyond help. He needs to speak with you, I swear!” She sighed. “I'm breaking some significant rules by contacting you, by helping him. But now he needs your help so please, just... please...” She sank down the wall, energy and hope spent.

Sam was quiet so long that she worried about his conclusions regarding her own mental health. Finally he spoke.

“You've pleaded your case, Sister... Fine, I'll fly out as soon as my schedule allows. I'm assuming that speaking to him on the phone is out of the question.”

“It is, and thank you.” She said with real feeling.

“I'll have my secretary contact you with the information.” He hung up.

 

= = = =

 

It was Sister Mary's turn to nod off on the clock that night. A very sporadic occurrence, since her body had adjusted to working all night almost a decade ago.

After speaking with Sam she had been giddy with relief, unable to go back to sleep. Now the three hours she had managed the night before were catching up to her and by midnight she had dropped her head to the desk, right on top of her reports, and fallen dead asleep.

She woke with a start some time later, bleary-eyed and shocked back to reality, not knowing for a heartbeat where she was. The familiar office brought her back to herself but one very important detail was missing: Syd.

He wasn't anywhere. She'd looked into all the patients rooms, checked the washroom, even gone downstairs to check the cafeteria. No sign of him. The rules were that at least one person had to be on the ward at all times, no exceptions. And since looking around the whole Asylum would take longer than she could spare (despite her quick run down to the first floor), she had no choice but to wait and see if Syd returned.

There was one other option: she could call around to all the other wards and check if anyone had seen him. This presented two problems. The first was a practical one. Though Syd normally didn't just leave like this, scaring the whole place into a full fledged man-hunt seem like overkill. The second problem was more selfish and less of a real problem. Sister Mary was now free to deliver the good news about his brother's visit to Dean. She didn't have to worry about Syd waking up or overhearing. The only crux of that course of action was not knowing when Syd would return. She decided to risk it.

The beam of her flashlight revealed that it was barely 2 am as she soundlessly unlocked Dean's room for what felt like the millionth time since he arrived at Roosevelt.

He was asleep. Over the months she had learned how to sneak up on this man who seemed to have inhuman reflexes, who seemed to never truly sleep. She didn't even bother closing the door behind her any more, just pulled it to and stepped up to the bed.

Dean was lying on his back, face slack, one arm lay across his stomach, the other by his side. His scars stood out like silver on his skin and Sister Mary allowed herself to really look at them. Both his arms were crisscrossed with that silver, not enough to cover them completely but enough to give the look of some ethereal tattoo. Peeking from the collar of his T-shirt was another blossoming of fine scars, and a thicker line of silver that ran from just behind his ear to disappear beneath the white cloth. She reckoned that the particularly angry looking mark must have nearly killed him. He had endured the injuries of a true warrior and survived. None of it marred his beauty.

As her eyes moved over his face she noticed a small scar breaking the line of his upper lip, pulling the perfect dip of his cupid's bow slightly to the side. Funny that she hadn't noticed it before. His face twitched a moment before his eyes opened. They widened for a second, confronted with a figure standing over him, then crinkled at the edges in a kind of smile. He watched her for a few heartbeats before speaking.

“Yup, definitely creepy.” There was no sting in his words as the smile reached his mouth.

“Sorry.” She said without conviction, smiling back at him.

They had developed an easy manner. The awful incident of seven months ago had been mutually put aside and most of the tension had eased. No longer did she shy away, or keep out of reach while they spoke. She had in some way forgiven him, and conversely hoped that he had forgiven her.

His smile turned from playful to knowing. She didn't look away like she used to, instead held his gaze, but her smile faded. Dean's fingers twitched where they rested on his midsection. Her eyes were drawn to the movement. In a moment of uncharateristic spontaneity she lay down next to him, head on his shoulder. He shifted to wrap one arm around her shoulders, the other took her hand in his, entwining their fingers.

“Why do you like me?” Dean eventually broke the silence.

“You're a good man, Dean Winchester. You just lost your way.” She began rubbing her thumb across the back of his hand.

“I don't know how good I am... but I try.” He rested his cheek against the top of her head.

“And for what it's worth,” she continued softly, “I believe that you haven't lied to me. Though I'm still having a hard time accepting the idea of monsters being real.”

The silence enveloped them again, stirred only by their quiet breaths. Sister Mary stifled a yawn.

“I spoke to your brother. He's going to come see you.” She tilted her head up to see his face. Unguarded joy shone there for a moment before it was quelled by his natural skepticism.

“Really? You're sure?”

“Yes. He'll be flying out as soon as he can.” She smiled reassuringly, rose up on one elbow to look down at him when he wasn't convinced. “This is good news. I'm sure your brother can help.”

Dean closed his eyes, looking for all the world as if he was saying a silent prayer of thanks. “Yeah,” he said quietly before opening them.

Despite the near lack of light Sister Mary could see the unmistakable sheen of tears in his eyes. He held her gaze in that intense way he was prone to. Normally he was teasing her, trying to elicit a response to what was surely some kind of personal joke. That was there now too, but also a rawness. She was still puzzling over that when he kissed her. She expected fire, urgency, instead it was tender.

Deeply buried memories flooded back, of the last man she had kissed before taking her vows. Of betrayal and a broken heart. She pushed them away. His lips were a soft warmth against hers and she felt bad for enjoying it. The nun in her feared the perpetration of sin, the woman in her sparked at the intimacy, the human contact.

Dean broke the kiss and let his head fall back onto the pillow. “Thanks.”

“For the kiss?” She asked stupidly.

“No.” He chuckled. “For having faith in me.”

Before he could say more she pressed fingertips to his mouth, considered him for a few heartbeats.

“I was married, before I entered the church.” She began. “He left me because I couldn't be the wife he wanted, couldn't give him a child. That's how I found my calling, but the betrayal never really healed.”

Dean looked up at her but didn't say anything. He pulled her hand, still grasped in his own, to his chest; in a gesture of comfort, she thought.

“For a long time I was so wrapped up in my vows and my service to God, that I never really let anyone else in. I may have made mistakes, grievous ones, but I've realized that I can have faith in you without betraying my faith in Him. I needed that, and I'm thankfull.”

Still Dean said nothing. He was searching her face, as if to figure out what to say, then his face broke into a grin. “You're thanking me for corrupting you?”

“No,” she scolded playfully. “I'm thanking you for reminding me that people are worth believing in.”

 


	9. I Got Dark Only To Shine

Thirteen months to the day after Dean Winchester entered Roosevelt Asylum, Sister Mary Constance would be setting in motion what she hoped was the means of his exoneration. Sam Winchester was coming to Rockford to meet with her. After almost four months of waiting, nail-biting and rain checks he was finally able to make the trip.

She met him at a small diner in town where no one would recognize her. The lunch rush was over but she had taken the further precaution of leaving her veil, crucifix and any other overtly nunnish attire back in her dorm. She felt naked with her hair uncovered, pulled back into a simple braid where it fell down her back. Her black dress was the only thing unchanged, since she didn't own civilian clothes.

Dean had described his brother to her but she was unprepared for what a striking figure Sam cut in his expensive suit. As she crossed the floor to the booth his height became apparent, his long legs curled under the table. A striking blond woman sat next to him, equally tall in her own right. Her dress was tailored to fit perfectly and looked expensive. Her hair was coiffed in a simple but elegant style, leaving her face open and approachable. She smiled when she noticed Sister Mary's approach, turning to tell Sam who looked up from his newspaper.

Sam's face was clean shaven, but guarded, and just as lovely as the suit he wore. His hair was worn in a longer style but slicked back from his face, not a stray hair in sight. They were both, in a word, perfect. The polarity between Dean and his brother, in both grooming and lifestyle (Dean's incarceration not withstanding), was almost comical. Sam folded the newspaper neatly and clasped his hands on top of it.

“Sister?” He gave her an appraising once over.

“Sam.” Sister Mary said. His jaw tensed at the presumptive use of his first name, but he smiled and nodded. She sat without being asked.

“I didn't know the church had become so progressive in it's...” He waved a hand to encompass her overall apperance.

“Oh... no, I thought it might be wise to meet you... incognito.” She looked from one of them to the other.

Sam raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. “Let me introduce my wife. Jessica.” He said instead.

Jessica reached a well-manicured hand across the formica table top. “Pleased to meet you.” Her smile was warm and genuine.

“You too.” Sister Mary replied, shaking Jessica's hand.

“Now, Sister, we've flown a long way for this meeting. If you don't mind, could we move this along?”

Sister Mary hesitated, glanced at Jessica. “Perhaps your wife should leave. Plausible deniability.”

Both Sam's eyebrow's went up at that and Jessica stifled a laugh.

He schooled his face quickly and turned to his wife. “She's right. Why don't you give us a minute, sweetheart.” He slid out of the booth to enable her exit.

Jessica gave a secretive smile and glanced at the Sister before slipping across the seat and standing.

“I'll be over by the counter.” She took her bag and gloves, and gave Sam a quick kiss before she left with her amused expression.

Sam cleared his throat as he sat back down. “Go ahead, Sister.”

“Dean want's to see you.” She said without any more stalling.

“I gathered that much. Why?” Sam's hands were once again clasped in front of him, his back ram-rod straight, all business. Sister Mary pulled out Dean's pages from her pocket and tried to smooth them out on the table top.

“He's written it all down for you.” She pushed them towards Sam.

He looked at her a moment before picking up the pages and scanning through them.

“These are lunatic ramblings. My brother has been having trouble since out parents were killed. Now you swore to me that he wasn't crazy. These,” he waved the pages at her, “are not helping to convince me of that.”

“I think it would be better if you spoke with him. He wants to see you, he misses you. He told me that.” She squeezed her hands between her knees, under the table. Fought the urge to curl in on herself, feeling about ten inches tall.

Sam's face softened marginally. “And how are we supposed to accomplish that? He can't even come to the phone.”

Sister Mary closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Here was where her plan deviated from reckless to certifiable. “I'll sneak you into the ward.” She opened her eyes. Sam's face hadn't changed. No shock, no anger, nothing.

“I'm breaking all the rules here, man's _and_ God's _._ But it's something that I just have to do.” Sister Mary dug her nails into her palms as tears started welling up in her eyes. “If he's being held here unjustly, I want to help him get out.”

Sam looked back at the pages in his hand, leafed through to the third one. “He claims that there was no trial. If that's the case I can get a warrant forcing them to release his file. Any patient committed into psychiatric care has an intake form. If there's no form, then we have proof corroborating Dean's claim.”

Sister Mary held up her hand to stop him. “I've seen his file. There's no intake form. Just copies of all the police reports, photos and everything, a list of his documented crimes and a referral letter from a doctor in Oklahoma.”

“Which is why I need to get a warrant. Your word isn't enough. If I can show there's no official paperwork, no evidence that he was anywhere near a judge, I can start an appeal to get him out. I'll visit the local court and then I'll go see this Dr. Ellicott.” He glanced at his watch. “I should get the warrant by the end of the day.”

“It's not that simple. His... rap sheet says that he's wanted in several states. If you get him out of here he'll just be running from the law somewhere else.”

At that his eyebrows went up. “If so, then what's the point of getting him out of Roosevelt? Why not just get him out the way you're planning on getting me in?”

“I can't just abandon him to life as a fugitive.” She looked at him in shock.

Sam gave her a measured look.

“How is it that you're turning a blind eye to all the shit he's done? Shouldn't you be praying for his eternal torment?” He scoffed.

“I told you. I believe him!”

“Do you love him?” Sam's voice was perfectly neutral.

“No.” She answered immediately, shocking herself with the truth in those words. “But I have faith in him. He's reminded me why I took my vows in the first place. I wanted to be a part of something bigger than myself. I wanted to help people, save people.”

She looked away, thinking how eerily her words echoed Dean's.

“Admirable, Sister, but it doesn't change what he's done in the eyes of the law.”

“I know...”

“I could go up there right now and see him.”

She turned back to face him. “They won't let you in.”

“They cannot bar him from speaking with his legal counsel.”

“No, you don't understand. He's in the maximum security ward. Roosevelt barely lets them out of their rooms, let alone allows a visit from a lawyer. They lock them up and they throw away the key. No one wants to know, or even cares, what happens to them. The whole asylum is like a stain on this town.”

“But-”

“No!” she interjected forcefully. “No one on that ward is allowed visitors. No official request for visitation was made and Dean certainly can't get to a phone. There is no way your arrival could be explained that won't implicate the staff. If you storm in there I'll lose my job for sure. We have to do this another way.”

He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “You're asking me to willfully break the law. To help break out a convicted felon?”

“He wasn't convicted to a life at Roosevelt. By the law _or_ by God.”

Sam watched her, taken aback by her sudden irascibility.

“Ok, then. What do you suggest?”

“I can sneak you in tonight. I'll meet you by the back gate. One o'clock.”

“Fine. I'll see you tonight.”

 

= = = =

  
  


Sister Mary drugged Syd again that night. Spared only a moment to ask forgiveness and barely reacted to how empty the words felt. Syd's walkabouts had become more frequent but for this particular clandestine mission she needed to be absolutely certain that he was out for the count.

She had explained to Sam that he could park on a small dirt road near the south wall. There was a gate off to the side leading to an old ramshackle garage, not far from the rear vehicle entrance. Though one lonely guard sat vigil by that entrypoint, no one kept eyes on the forgotten gate – practically swallowed by overgrown trees and bushes. That's where she met him at 1 am, on the dot, pulling her dark peacoat more tightly around her to fend off the sudden chill.

Sam was waiting in the shadows, black trench coat rendering him almost invisible in the cloudy dark. She unlocked the rusty gate as quietly as she could and ushered him inside.

“Lead the way, Sister,” he whispered and it made her pulse quicken. The stark reality of what she was doing now falling into place.

She lead him through the inky shadows behind the garage, across the grass and through a side door. The lock groaned from years of disuse. Once inside the dim corridor she turned to Sam.

“Remember the way I'm taking you. I'll leave everything unlocked in case you need to get out of here quickly.” He nodded once.

They moved on. Up the stairs to avoid the noise of the service elevator. Inside the ward – and here she paused to lock the door behind them – there was a level of silence that seemed to simultaneously engulf and amplify their footfalls.

“Try not to be too upset by his state. The shackle is deemed necessary.” She whispered, outside room 8.

“Shackle?” He asked, but instead of explaining Sister Mary opened the door.

Inside, Dean was sitting on the bed. He looked up, eyes locked onto his brother, and whispered one hoarse word, “Sammy!”

Sam hesitated, taking in the sight of his older brother in this state of duress, but when Dean rose and hurried his alloted distance towards the door, Sam met him in a warm hug.

Sister Mary smiled at the heartwarming juxtaposition of not only the brothers but of Dean's behaviour in comparison to his circumstances. They broke the embrace and Sister Mary could hear Dean murmuring, “...never thought I'd see you again...” as well as Sam's reply of “Yeah, me too.”

Dean looked around the tall form of his brother and set a teary gaze on the Sister.

“You have two hours, make them count.” She locked the door and left them.

At first Sister Mary considered listening from outside the door but abandoned it. Dean would surely be expecting that. No, she would give them the two hours – a paltry restitution for ten years apart. Syd was sleeping soundly with no sign of waking and for the first time since starting this potentially suicidal mission she allowed herself to relax.

The minutes ticked by like eons as she kept one eye on the time. Soon the Sister felt the familiar anxiety creep upon her. What if someone came into the ward? What if there was an emergency? What if Syd woke up? She poured herself a slug of his contraband liquor and again her eyes wandered to the clock face above the door. More minutes had passed than she had noticed and still the second-hand kept ticking out it's discoidal trajectory like some insect crawling towards Judgement Day.


	10. Mama, We're Meant For The Flies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter finally up :) Yay!

Doomsday never came. Sam was safely shepherded off the grounds. Sister Mary was in the clear. And Dean was infused with an equanimity noticed even by Dr. Ellicott.

The word on the ward was that Dean had been making progress in his therapy sessions and was being allowed more time in the day room. Over a month had passed since Sam's visit and Dean hadn't spoken about it. Sister Mary had found precious few chances to visit him since then and guessed that she would find precious few in the forseeable future. A chill ran through her as she recalled Syd's reaction when he had awoken that morning after Sam's departure.

He had given her a sideways look while rubbing his tired eyes. Poorly masked suspicion lay there, a look that had Sister Mary fearing he would figure out what had transpired, and thankful that Sam had already left the asylum unnoticed.

“What the hell?” Syd had muttered after waking up fully. “How did I sleep for... _six hours_?” He exclaimed after consulting the clock.

Something in the way he said it had sent a jolt of panic through her, putting her decidedly on alert.

“Maybe you were just really tired?” She had offered casually, not looking at him.

“Nah...” he'd replied guardedly. “I never sleep this long at work. Three years and I've never slept for more than two hours...”

“Then maybe you're coming down with something.” She'd tried, too forcefully, hoping her edginess wasn't shining like a beacon.

“Maybe...” Syd had replied after a moment. “Did you get anything done while I was out?” He'd moved over to the desk to thumb through the neglected paperwork in front of her.

“I was praying. I needed guidance.” She had forced out the lie, trembling voice apparent even to her ears.

“You've been doing that a lot lately.” Syd had snorted, looking down at her. “Something going on with you, Sister?”

She'd opened her mouth to deny it, stopped, then let a moment of unthinking gall form her words instead. “Is something going on with _you_ , Syd? You take off several nights a month to goodness knows where. You're shirking your responsibilities more than usual lately!”

He had held her gaze, a slow smirk spreading across his face. “Wouldn't you like to know, Sister.”

She had stood then, supressing the urge to slap him. “I'm serious, Syd! Where are you running off to? You haven't gone exploring in over a year. Why now? Why so secretive?”

“I'm just stretching my legs, Sister.” He'd said with a casual shrug, his lips shifting into a cold smile. “At least I'm not fucking the patients.”

The words had hit her like a physical blow. She stepped back abruptly. “How dare you! I did no such thing!”

Syd had crossed his arms and leaned back against the desk, smug look taunting her. “You would have.” The conviction in his tone made her feel ill.

She was aghast. “How can you have such a low opinion of me, after all these years?”

He'd offered no answer, just a raised eyebrow, foul smile never leaving his face.

The sounds of the dayshift workers entering the ward had ended their altercation and Sister Mary had hurried out of the office, run back to the dorm with ire fueling her journey. It wasn't until she was tucked into her bed, their argument still ringing in her ears, that she'd realized how effectively Syd had turned the subject of discussion onto her. Managing to completely avoid divulging his whereabouts.

The whole confrontation made her uneasy. In hindsight she realized that it was the final nail in the coffin of their already precarious friendship.

 

= = = =

 

And so, as May came to a close in the year of our Lord 1963, Sister Mary trudged up to the ward without any prospects of a pleasant night watching over the loonies in residence. Without the possibility of speaking to Dean. And without her longstanding friendship with Syd.

She tried in vain to find solace in prayer but came up wanting. Syd did all the checks. He drank, watched the TV and then left the ward with barely a backward glance at her. She remained bent over the desk, rosary in hand, lips silently forming the words of her waning devotion. She hoped that if she kept investing in her faith that it would return. That she could reignite the credence which had led her into the church in the first place. But she was weaker than she thought and the knowledge, however unsubstantiated, of what really existed in the world around her had opened a door that could not be closed, no matter how hard she prayed. Her words to Dean hadn't been a lie; that she could have faith in him and God. But as her life, as she knew it, started to fall away piece by piece she realized how much it had revolved around a doctrine that was increasingly clashing with her own desires. She desired to help people, still, and she was content enough in her service to the church, had been content for many years. She wasn't willing to throw it away. But now she could see how much more she could do with that service. How many people she could reach on a different level. It wasn't exactly her faith she was questioning anymore, but her choice to become a nun.

 

= = = =

 

At the beginning of June she came to work one evening to find Dean's room empty. Syd explained that he was in the infirmary.

“Bad reaction to some new meds or something.” He shrugged.

Sister Mary wanted to pry further but she had a bad feeling unfurling in her gut and Syd was not the right person to be questioning about this particular development. She also suspected that he knew the truth about Dean's absence and chose this night to let her take first checks just to watch her reaction. She wouldn't give him the pleasure of showing any concern. She nodded and settled into the night's tense silence. The hours ticked by. She stared at her Bible blindly, trying to keep half an eye on Syd while also keeping up the pretense of absorbed reading.

After 10pm checks she spent a length of time seated at the desk, hands clasped in front of her. But she wasn't praying, she was planning. It had disconcerted her to see Dean's room empty, and she couldn't help opening the hatch and peering in at the empty bed, despite knowing he wouldn't be there sleeping.

Now, he could very well be in genuine need of medical attention, but the bad feeling that had welded itself into her gut since the beginning of the shift told her otherwise. She couldn't put her finger on exactly what felt wrong but she really wanted know for sure where Dean was. Sick bay was located in the East Ward, with a seperate little cell of a room reserved for South Ward patients - the better to keep them away from anyone else – and though she could conceivably gain access for some half-way realistic reason the eternal obstacle remained that she would be unable to get there without Syd noticing. He mostly ignored her these days, but his harsh comments the night of Sam's visit proved that he trusted Sister Mary about as far as he could throw her. Therefore he would react aversely to her leaving the ward, either blatantly or covertly.

Due to his pejorative manner the Sister had taken to keeping closer tabs on Syd as their working relationship grew more and more unfriendly. She noticed that while he affected ignorance, he seemed to be far too aware of what she was doing. This had been a major factor in her choice to decrease contact with Dean of late. They still whispered through the door during checks and were otherwise as amicable as before but prudence swayed her behavior towards self-restraint. Oddly enough, the thought of reporting Syd's irresponsible behaviour never crossed her mind as a viable option. She considered it now but felt that two key elements stopped her from taking that course of action. The first was that if Syd was fired or moved off nights she would be stuck with another orderly. A new co-worker might hinder her chances at contact with Dean even further than Syd already had. It all boiled down to choosing the devil you know. The second element was far more emotionally motivated. If she told on Syd, he would tell on her. That meant at best a period of being removed from active work, at worst being fired outright and maybe even being removed from Rockford entirely. Which in turn meant that she would have no way of helping Dean. No, she had to sit tight, bide her time, and figure out the best course of action that would keep the status quo.

All this was the subject of her deliberation. She wanted to know with absolute certainty that Syd was beyond turning a blind eye and given the restriction of their working environment – and, indeed, to avoid any occupational reprimand – she needed to, ironically, be sneaky in the way she went about it. She felt it was time for an experiment.

“I'm going to get coffee, would you like some?” She asked affably. If she couldn't unsettle him through terseness, she would do it with unexpected kindness.

Syd looked at her for a moment, eyes narrowing a shade. “Yeah, sure.” He didn't even try to sound thankful. She smiled sweetly at him.

At the first landing she stopped and waited. This was a test and she knew Syd would follow her, make sure she was only getting the coffee. Make sure she wasn't going to check the infirmary. Sure enough, after a few seconds she heard the door open and his quiet footsteps move towards the stairs. She smiled to herself. She was going to make sure Syd only saw what he _wasn't_ expecting to.

She continued down to the ground floor. His quiet footfalls were the barest echo of her own and she realized just how good he was at moving about unheard. In the staff cafeteria she moved to the sideboard and set about filling the perculator with water and coffee grounds. It bubbled and spat. She positioned herself so that she could see the doors but kept her gaze determinedly away from the glass panes in them. Only the barest of movement in the darkened corridor gave away Syd's presense. If she hadn't been watching for it she never would have noticed.

The perculator quieted and as she poured out two cups – sugar for Syd, black for herself – she dared a look in his direction. He was gone. No doubt hurrying back upstairs to avoid notice. She took the cups and headed back as well, smiling to herself as she thought how duplicitous they both were; spying on each other and keeping secrets. She only wondered how long this trecherous dance could continue before one of them stumbled or, worse, stabbed the other in the back.

 

= = = =

 

The following night she was met on the ward by the sounds of shouting. Syd and two other orderlies were wrestling Gordon from his room. He was kicking and struggling, fighting against the restraints of the straight-jacket as it was strapped around him.

“No! He'll kill me! Don't take me down there!” Each sentence was punctuated by one of his legs flying out, trying to find a target. Gordon's left foot connected with Syd's leg. He stumbled but didn't lose his grip on the struggling man.

Syd threw her a pained glare. “Get a sedative!” He grunted as he regained his feet.

Syster Mary hurried to the office to procure a vial and syringe. She filled it with shaking hands as she moved back to the mellee, handing the needle to Syd who jabbed it unforgivingly into Gordon's arm and pushed the stopper down. Before long Gordon's struggles lost their fervor but he didn't go out completely.

Carl finished fastening the jacket and took hold of Gordon's legs, hoisting them up and holding on like he was trying to control a wriggling fish. Gordon kept fighting and the orderlies kept holding him. Eventually he stilled, head falling heavily as the drugs pulled him under.

They moved in unison towards the doors and Sister Mary hurried to hold one open for them. The small convoy passed her and moved towards the service elevator. She locked the ward and took a moment to collect herself. They always had to be prepared for such occurences but they happened so seldom that she felt like it was the first time all over again.

The light was shining brightly from the open door of Gordon's room. She went to turn it off and close the door. As she peered in she saw that he had trashed the small space. The mattress was ripped apart, stuffing strewn everywhere. Bits of fabric littered the floor like discarded candy wrappers, a few pieces having been dragged out into the corridor during the struggle. She pushed them back inside with her foot and hit the lightswitch on the wall outside the room. The growing twilight engulfed her as she closed the door and secured the hatch.

She stood there in the murky silence, feeling lost as to her next course of action, and heard a sound trickle through the fading light.

“Sister!” It was Dean's voice, an urgent whisper from the other end of the ward. She hurried to his door.

An inexplicable relief washed over her as soon as she saw his face. Thank heaven it wasn't him being manhandled out of the ward.

“Are you okay?” She asked automatically.

“Yeah,” he said, like it should be obvious. “But Gordon isn't gonna be.”

“What do you mean?” She kept her voice low. The ruckus had surely roused every other patient on the ward not sedated to within an inch of their lives and they were all, without a doubt, standing by their doors, eavsdropping for all they were worth. Only Dean was considered dangerous enough to be permanently shackled to his bed.

He stood, stretching the chain to it's entire length, as he too tried to get as close to his door as possible. “Ellicott's gonna be pissed when he hears about this.”

“I'm sure he will. He'll keep Gordon in isolation until he calms down. But what happened to you yesterday? Why were you in the infirmary?”

“Infirmary?” Dean's brow furrowed. “Who told you that?”

“Syd.” She said simply.

Confusion turned to understanding. “I wasn't in the infirmary, Sister. But I'm not surprised Syd told you I was.”

“Then where were you?” She asked, standing so close to the door it was like she could melt through it. But she didn't have the time to enter his room. Syd would be back before long.

“I don't know exactly where I was. But it sure as hell wasn't the infirmary. Ellicott came in just after lockdown and pumped me full of something. Next thing I know I wake up in a room I've never seen before. Whatever he gave me left me with the mother of all hangovers.” Dean recounted the events quickly and dispassionately.

Sister Mary didn't know what to say. It could all have been a dream brought on by the sedative. But she had learned to trust Dean's judgement and if he claimed it had really happened she believed him. And he had indeed been absent from the ward, so wherever he was last night it certainly wasn't here.

“Ellicott was there too. I kept swimming in and out, but I remember-”

“Wait.” She cut him off. “Why would Syd lie about where you were?”

“I don't know. Maybe he was fed the same bullshit and passed it on to you. Maybe he chose to keep you in the dark about it, but I know one thing. You can't trust him.”

Before she could reply the ward's doors opened. She stepped back and turned to see Syd entering, eyes boring into her across the long expanse of corridor as he walked towards the office and not leaving her until he disappeared through the doorway.

“I have to go.” She whispered to Dean before closing the hatch.

As she walked numbly back, footfalls sounding like thunderclaps in her ears, only one thing was going through her mind. 'You can't trust him', Dean had said. Over and over the words echoed. She not only believed, she feared, thanks to the results of her petty little experiment last night. Results which Dean's words corroborated. One thing was abundantly clear: she would have to tread on eggshells from here on out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think the coffee perculator may be an anachronism. Oh, well...


	11. I'm Bleeding Right Before The Lord

A week later she tested Syd again. She went for coffee, he followed. This time, though, as she walked towards the cafeteria she thought she could hear the faint sounds of screaming, of pain. Her head snapped around before she could stop herself, trying to listen over the white noise in her ears. It was like a memory of suffering being carried on the wind, barely audible, almost there and then gone. It sent a shiver through her. All went quiet and she moved on.

After returning to the third floor she couldn't get the chill off her skin. She couldn't stop thinking about where the noise had come from and then Dean's words came back to her. Not his warning about Syd, but his allegation that he had been in an unknown room with others. Others that had been screaming.

Her ruse seemed to be working. Syd's head was falling to the side as sleep sucked him under, the first time he had napped so placidly in many months. The clock ticked it's way towards the witching hour. She waited. Let it pass the hour and keep going. By 3:15 she was relatively certain that Syd was out. She left the office quietly to do checks.

When she returned Syd was awake.

“Where have you been, Sister?” He asked without looking at her.

“Where do you think?” She said, going to the desk. “I was doing 3 o'clock checks.”

She sat and pulled out an empty report sheet from the drawer, started filling out the minutiae of her uneventful walkthrough.

“Anything out of the ordinary?” Syd asked.

“No. Everyone's sleeping.” She signed the bottom of the page and placed it in the folder containing all the night's reports.

“I'm getting more coffee. Want some?” Syd stood and moved to the door.

“No, thank you.” She replied.

Forty-five minutes later he came back, coffee in hand.

“That took a while.” She said, offhand.

“Had to hit the head.” Syd sat back down in his chair, sipping unaffectedly.

 

= = = =

 

As June drew to a close she was becoming thoroughly tired of the double-crossing game she and Syd were playing. She was tired of lying, of constantly looking over her shoulder. She was tired of Syd's anger and suspicion – even more so of his smarmy dismissal – and very tired indeed of not being able to even have a friendly conversation with Dean. This year, like the last, left her with the reality that she needed to continue on as usual, take her annual leave and not raise any suspicions. The differences were that now she no longer needed to find time to hear Dean's story, merely wanted to indulge in his company, and that Syd wouldn't be taking his two weeks with her.

She had found out about that little detail upon arriving at work the very same evening. Syd had unceremoniously told her that he would be taking his vacation after her. Something about a dead relative and a funeral that she didn't believe for a moment. She had nodded and offered her most heartfelt condolences, hoping that her face didn't look as strained as it felt as she pretended to buy his story.

Early that morning Syd left the ward again, without a word to her. She asked herself again why she didn't just report him. The answer was simply that she didn't want to have that fight just yet. It was selfish and stupid and cowardly, but it was the truth.

After Syd had disappeared down the stairs she went to Dean's room, unlocked the door and entered.

“Vacation warning, huh?” He was lying awake, staring at the ceiling.

“Yes. How did you know?”

“Same time as last year. I did the math.” He pulled himself up to sitting. “But I'm pretty sure this time you won't be apologizing for it.” He smiled sadly.

“No.” She sat next to him. “But I wanted to let you know that Syd won't be going until I get back. So, be careful. He may try something while I'm not here.”

“Why would he do that?” Dean crossed his arms, settling back.

“He doesn't like you. He doesn't like me any longer, either.”

“Yeah, I've noticed there's some... tension.”

“Oh you have no idea... But I'm serious. We're both being so careful around each other. He's wandering off most nights. Won't tell me where, just leaves and acts all suspicious of me like I'm the one being strange and not him.”

“But his disappearances are a new thing?” Dean asked.

“Relatively new, yes. He used to go exploring a few years ago when he first started working here, but he hasn't been wandering about for a long time. Until a few months ago.”

“So, what, around Christmas?”

“Umm, yes. The end of January, I believe. Why?”

Dean shook his head, dispelling the line of questioning.

“I'll be fine. Go have your vacation. Try not to worry about me.”

“But- “ She started.

“Go! I'll be fine. And I'll sure as hell be here when you get back.” He said with a wry smile.

 

= = = =

 

Her time off, though relaxing in some respects, had been stressful in others. She had spent two whole weeks worrying about Dean, wondering what Syd was getting up to while she wasn't there and wishing the time would go faster so she could be back at work.

In the second week of July she climbed the steps to South Ward with a half-hearted sense of calm but as she entered the ward proper that feeling gave way to trepidation. What would she find? What could be waiting for her?

What was waiting for her was Carl and a wet-behind-the-ears orderly she'd never seen before. He was all of 18 and looked nervous but determined.

“Carl, nice to see you again.” She adressed him curtly.

“Sister,” he nodded. “This is Kevin. Your temp while Syd's away. Figured he could start here on nights until he gets the hang of things. Then move him over to one of the other wards. I've given him the tour of the rest of this place. Thought it'd be best if you showed him around up here, explained the routines, let him know how things work on the South Ward.”

“Of course. Well, Kevin, nice to meet you,” she smiled and held out her hand. After a moment of hesitation he took it and said hello.

Carl left and Sister Mary began showing Kevin around the office. Explaining where things were, what paper work had to be filled out, the basics of what to do if there was an emergency. He nodded and watched her with wide eyes.

“So,” she said, “shift starts at eight and ends at six. One of us has to be on the ward at all times, but it's very calm here at night. For the most part.” She added.

“Ah, when do we eat?” He asked tentatively.

“We have a meal break between 11 and 11.30. There's usually sandwiches left for us down in the cafeteria, or if you want to bring your own food you can leave it in the heating cupboard. But we have to eat up here since there's only two of us. There's coffee downstairs too, we can drink as much of that as we want.”

“Okay.” He nodded. “Bathroom?”

“There's a washroom across the hall. The facilities are in there. So, on to the patients.” She grabbed a flashlight and led him out into the hallway. “We perform routine checks throughout the night, for the safety of the patients. Since it's summer it's still relatively light in here when shift starts, but during the winter it will be dark. The lights stay off while the patients are in their rooms.”

They arrived at the first door along the left wall. “This is room 1, and that's Gordon.” She opened the hatch and let him peer inside.

“It's so empty. They're not allowed any other stuff?” He asked after the hatch was closed.

“No. This is the maximun security ward. Only the most dangerous patients are kept here. No personal possessions allowed.” They moved on.

“Are they ever let out of their cells?”

She stopped. “Rooms, not cells. They may be criminals, but they're patients first and foremost, inmates second.”

“Got it.” He said sheepishly as they reached the second door.

“They are allowed time in the day room if they behave. But they are all on lockdown between 7:30 pm and 7:30 am. If Dr. Ellicott allows they are allowed out during the day.” She pointed to the open space across the corridor, next to the office, with a couch, table and chairs, other furniture.

“This is Jimmy's room. Number 2.” She continued, turning back to the door in front of them.

Again she let him look inside.

“Do they always sleep so early?”

“It depends, most of the time they're sedated during the night. Gordon hasn't been well lately and Jimmy has been on nightly sedation for the last two years. He doesn't sleep at all if we don't. Moving on.”

At the next door she explained that Gary was the youngest patient on the ward, only 21, but that Kevin should be wary of him despite his age and generally harmless appearance. After looking into his room they moved on to the fourth door.

“This is Roy.” She said as he looked in through the open hatch.

“Uh,” He said after a moment. “Is he...?”

“Yes.” She said tersely, then barked into the room. “Roy!” He stilled.

She closed the hatch. Kevin looked uncomfortable. “Roy has problems controlling his sexual urges. You'll get used to it.” She lowered her voice. “Just threaten to tell the doctor. That usually makes him stop.”

“How can you stand it? I mean, being a...” His voice trailed off.

“I've been working here a long time. Just because I live my life by a certain set of morals doesn't mean that everyone else does. If I let it get to me I'd never be able to stay. Okay, last patient.”

“What about the other rooms?”

“They're empty. We can hold eight patients on the ward but currently only house five.” She moved across the corridor to Dean's room. He was sitting up in bed, waiting for them when they looked inside.

“This is Dean,” she began as Kevin stared into the room. “He's our most dangerous patient. Dean, this is Kevin.” She said it dispassionately, stating a fact for the new guy, but threw an apologetic glance at Dean. Appearances needed to be upheld. Dean understood this, playing into his reputation a bit. He pulled his legs up, rattling the chain attached to his ankle, and rested his arms on his knees.

“Hiya, Kevin,” he said with a dark look, tone in direct contradiction to the friendly words. Sister Mary grinned, stifling it quickly when Kevin turned to her.

“Why does he have a chain around his ankle?”

“He's unpredictable.” She told him with appropriate graveness. “He's tried attacking orderlies, fought with the other patients. Dr. Ellicott feels it's necessary for him to be restrained at all times.” Dean was grinning at her behind Kevin's back. She _was_ laying it on a bit thick.

“Does he ever get to leave his room?” Kevin asked quietly, turning back to look at Dean.

“Sometimes.” She closed the hatch and led him back to the office.

“So now you've met the patients.” She sat at the desk. “We perform checks at the beginning of the shift, then at 10pm, at midnight, 3am and again at 5:30 before the first day shift arrives. After each round of checks we fill out a report. If nothing is out of place we just fill in that checks were performed. If something _is_ different, wrong, we put that in the report. If something happens outside of checks we have a seperate paper for that too. But don't worry. It's usually very uneventful.”

He nodded but still looked uneasy, worried.

“You'll be fine. I'll take the checks to start with. You can give it a go when you feel you're ready. Just stay in here, watch TV, read, drink coffee.” He smiled at that. “We're mostly here _just in case_.”

“Okay.” He said with more confidence.

“Have you worked nights before?” She sat at the desk.

“No.” He pulled up a chair of his own.

“It can be tough at first. Getting used to being awake all night. If you need to rest, go ahead. It's technically against protocol but everyone turns a blind eye in the beginning while you're adjusting.”

They passed the first few hours in amicable conversation. Kevin told her about growing up in Neighbor, Michigan with a single mother. His father had died when he was a baby. They had moved to Chicago when he was fifteen, his small hometown no longer offering any gainful employment for his mother. A few weeks earlier he had moved to Rockford when he got a job at the asylum. He was fresh out of highschool and so doe-eyed and hopeful in his youth that he made Sister Mary feel ancient by comparison.

She told him of her own childhood, growing up in a small town in the mountains of north-east Pennsylvania called Ashland. She told him that when she entered the church at twenty she was eventually transferred from the Women's Seminary Academy in Philadelphia to work at the asylum in Rockford. She told him that she'd been working there for seven years, beginning her tenure much as he had, though the South Ward had only housed four patients back then, of which only Gordon was still present.

“Tell me about this place. What do you know about it?” Kevin asked.

“Well I only know what's in the history books, I guess.” She began. “It was built in 1885 as a work house. As close to a prison as a non-prison could be, but I suppose those were the times. Eventually they started housing the overflow of social deviants from Chicago. Then they used it to treat TB sufferers at the turn of the century. In the 20's it was reinvented as an asylum for the criminally insane. At first it was owned by the state but control was turned over to the church when they started using it to lock away the criminals. These days everyone answers to Dr. Ellicott, though.”

“Who's he?”

“The chief psychiatrist. He's been running this place since 1948.”

Kevin yawned. “I'm sorry. It's not you-”

“No, it's fine.” She looked at the time. “It's just about time for checks. Do you want to get some coffee?”

“Yeah, that'd be great.” He stood.

“Do you have your keys?”

He checked his pockets, pulling them out.

“Clip them to your belt. It's a good habit to keep, a lot of the patients could pick your pocket before you know what's what.”

His eyes widened at that.

“It's not such a problem here, but when you move to another ward you'll want to keep a close eye on them.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

“Do you remember the way to the cafeteria?”

“Yeah. I'll be right back.” He smiled and left.

Sister Mary was out of the office and moving to Dean's room before Kevin had locked the doors behind him. Dean was smiling when she pulled the door closed behind her.

“At least you're not working with Carl, huh?” He laughed under his breath.

“He's sweet, but so nervous. I can't say I blame him though. I was the same when I started here.” She smiled at him.

“And now you're sneaking into patients's rooms in the dead of night. Oh how the mighty have fallen.” Dean said sarcastically.

She laughed. “He's getting coffee, he'll be back soon. I just wanted to come see you. How were things while I was gone?”

“Things were great.” He said. She gave him a look. “Okay, maybe not great. But Syd didn't try anything. He had Carl for company, and between you and me, I think they spent more time out of the ward than babysitting us.”

“Well, that doesn't surprise me. Carl's not exactly a model employee either.”

“But Syd did give me this weird look everytime he came by for checks. At least the ones I was awake for. Looked like he was disappointed. Expecting me to lash out or something. I don't know. It was unnerving, and I don't get spooked easily.”

“Well, he'll be gone for two weeks now. Just me and the kid.” She smiled.

“Yeah. You should get back.” Dean nodded towards the door.

She stepped forward and hugged him. “I'm glad you're okay.”

He hugged her back. “You too. Go.”

 

= = = =

 

The two weeks with Kevin had been a pleasant bit of breathing space from the tension of working with Syd. She remembered what it was like to enjoy coming to work. And though she hadn't been able to break away from routine much, she had been thankful for the circumstances.

On her second night at work after Syd got back she was feeling the old discomfort set in again. He was marginally more relaxed than before their respective vacations, but still kept his distance. She said a little prayer of thanks for at least getting a month away from him and another for strength to make it through the forseeable future with him at her side each night.

Syd had offered to let her take first checks, and that in itself should have set off warning bells right there, but she gave him the benefit of the doubt and proceeded to check on the patients. Everything was normal, or as normal as it could be in a locked ward at an asylum, but when she got to Dean's room she could tell that something was off.

He stood at the foot of the bed with his back to her. She whispered his name and his head spun around at the sound. His face was in shadow but his eyes gleamed from out that darkness with a feral blaze that left him almost unrecognizable. It was a grim likeness of the dark, haunted look he had given her so very many months ago, after she had looked through his file.

She gasped and wrapped a hand around her crucifix. “What's wrong with you?”

He turned and moved towards her, swift agility in his momentum once again, straining against the chain at his ankle as he tried to reach the door. He said nothing, merely fought his bonds as he watched her with that unholy scrutiny and for the first time since he arrived she was truly frightened by him.

He leaned forward, straining even further, shackle surely cutting into his skin now, and was able to reach the door. He pressed his palms against it, leaning at an angle, getting his face at close to the bars as he could.

“I'm just fine, Sister... Clear as a bell.” His voice was so impossibly low she could feel it like a rumble of thunder across her skin. Like a tangible thing enveloping her in it's breathy shudder.

“Why are you acting like this? Did Syd do domething to you?” She asked, confused and worried.

He pulled against the chain hard enough that the bed would have been wrenched free had it not been bolted to the floor. “He helped me...” His voice rustled out on a long breath.

“Syd?” She squeaked.

Dean shook his head slowly, menacingly.

“Who?” Her heartbeat was racing now.

“Helped me find... something I'd lost. Thought I'd lost...” His voice, his whole demeanor, was the tightly wound trembling of one about to snap. About to let loose a rage so red-hot that it could char anyone in it's path.

“What?” She could only manage monosyllables while confronted with him in this state.

He took a deep breath and his lips curled into a vicious smile. “The thing I need to get out of here...” His breath shuddered out as he spoke.

“Dean...” She whispered again, didn't know what was going on or how to calm him. All her years of experience accounted for naught in the face of his behaviour.

He let out an animalistc sound of pure anger, not loud but menacing in it's threat, then grabbed the bars and began pulling violently, trying to rip the door off it's hinges.

She stifled a scream and backed away so fast that she almost tripped over her own feet. Her pulse was pounding through her as she ran back to the office, heart beating so hard that her fingers were tingling with it.

Syd watched her come panting into the room, a satisfied look on his face. She stopped cold and stared at him as her pulse tried to slow. The pieces began falling into place.

“You unimaginable bastard.” She swore for the first time in years. “You knew, didn't you? You let me take the first checks knowing what was waiting for me!”

He smiled. “I think your interest in that particular patient is affecting your ability to do the job.”

She narrowed her eyes at him angrily but didn't answer.

“I'll go secure him, shall I?” Syd moved past her.

“I have to report this.” She said as he walked out the door.

He stopped and turned to her. “No you don't. Not if you now what's best for you.”

She stood there fuming as he walked away.

 

= = = =

 

The next night Dean was calm again, sleeping when she did her first round of checks. But she still wanted to understand his riddles. Wanted badly to know what had made him so unhinged and who exactly 'he' was.

Upon 10pm checks it was becoming apparent that he was sedated, and when she did her checks again at midnight she was sure of it. For his sake she was glad that it curbed the terrifying rage she had witnessed, but she had selfishly hoped to find him awake at this late hour so they could exchange at least a few words before she hurried back.

He was kept sedated at night for over a week. After a few days a note was waiting on the desk, saying that his extreme outbursts had nesseccitated sedation and that Dr. Ellicott would let them know when it could cease.

July ended and August began. Syd's threat still hung over her like a storm cloud. She couldn't fathom what he would do to realize the threat but was certain that the scales had been tipped. That precarious dance they had been engaged in for months now had finally turned into a treacherous game. He had stabbed her in the back, and she was stumbling.

 


	12. There's No Room For Innocence

Dawn's early light was nothing but a promise on the horizon as she plucked up what courage she could muster to address the tension between them. She had been considering the pros and cons of confronting Syd for weeks. Guessing at what kind of results would come from them. Finally she decided that she just wanted to get it over with, stop skirting the issue, ignoring it, and find out once and for all where they stood.

“What happened to us, Syd?”

He didn't look at her. “I thought you were my friend.” He said quietly.

“I was!” She fired back automatically.

Syd turned to look at her, surprised. Then cold calculation replaced it.

“Was?” He asked. “That says it all, doesn't it?”

Her heart sank when she realized what he was getting at. It was obvious then that her dislike of him had grown, proportionate to his own misgivings towards her.

“You started this!” She retorted, defensively. If they were going to have it out after all, it might as well be now. “You treated me like a child, kept me on a leash that in it self was disrespectful of our friendship. You tried to control me and stop me from helping him!”

“No! _You_ started it!” He threw himself out of the chair, pointing a shaking finger at her, responding anger instant. “That's the whole goddamn problem. Him!”

“So you're angry because I chose him and not... _you_?” The thought made her uneasy.

“No!” He spat immediately.

“Then explain it to me. Because I really don't understand what I could have done to make you hate me!” Her anger had given way to incredulity.

Syd gave her an uncomprehending look.

“What you _did_ was choose one of those psychos over a coworker. Over the rules and procedures of this institution! You turned your back on what we had for _him_!” The last word was a curse.

“What we had? Syd, we work together. And we _were_ friends.” She rose from her chair, stepped towards him. “And as far as breaking the rules, _you've_ been breaking plenty of them for years. Why are you so angry all of a sudden that I did?”

He stepped closer to her as well. One hand shaking in punctuation as he spoke.

“We broke the rules _together_. _You_ turned a blind eye. You're sure as _shit_ not innocent in this!”

“I know!” She threw her hands up in exasperation. “That's beside the point. You started hating me because I wanted to help a patient that has a real chance at rehabilitation. Why are you trying to stop me?”

Syd stared, eyes flitting back and forth across her face.

“He'll never get better. He deserves to die in here.”

“Oh, Syd...” She said sadly. The depth of his hatred for not only her but Dean too, hurt her heart. “If you really believe that then you're not who I thought you were.”

She sank down, dejectedly, onto the chair.

“No, Sister. But neither are you.” Syd spoke quietly now, with cold intensity.

“What?” She blinked up at him.

“I'm not buying all that fake piety.” In a flash the anger was back. “You took the first chance you could to sin with that- that _monster_. But you don't fool me any longer.”

Now she was truly worried about his mental state. The thought almost made her laugh, considering how many times she had questioned her own sanity over the last year.

“Syd... I think maybe you need some time off.”

He scoffed.

“I'm serious.” She continued. “You're seeing monsters where there are none. These are all just sick people that need our help.”

“I _am_ helping them.” There was an eerily calm conviction in his voice.

“How? By ignoring your responsibilities? By treating this job like some kind of paid nap session? By drinking and watching TV?” Her inability to understand how he thought he was helping the patients left her punching the questions at him.

“You can't say shit about that! You never had a problem with any of it until _he_ got here.” Syd threw an arm out in the direction of Dean's room for emphasis.

“Well, maybe I'm seeing things in a different light these days.” She started, as calmly as she could. Then she gave him a meaningful look. “And maybe it's time I stopped turning a blind eye to your behaviour.”

Syd was unfazed by the threat. His hand fell back to his side and he straightened a bit, looking down at her.

“Go ahead. Tell the doc. But I think he'll be just as interested to learn that one of the nuns in his employ is fucking a patient.” The words were meant to hurt and they hit their mark.

“I am not!” She yelled, standing again and invading his space.

“By the time I'm done with this, he, and everyone else in this place, will believe that you are.” He smiled coldly. “Imagine what that would do to your reputation, not only in the asylum but in the eyes of the church... Your word against mine, Sister. I'd tread very carefully if I were you.”

She started to recoil, then forced herself to stop, to hide how his words hurt her, scared her.

“Blackmail, Syd? Threats? Really?” She asked, as blithely as she could.

“Don't forget that there's a nasty little report about your loverboy getting out of hand. All I have to do is write another one detailing how I caught you in the act and you'll be out on your ass so fast.” He spread his hands as if to say 'See, I've won'.

This time she lost the battle and shock spread across her face. “You would lie to get me fired? Just out of spite for him?”

“Oh no.” Syd replied innocently, like he he was the model employee. “I would do it to make sure that everyone working on this ward is securely on the right team. Working towards treating the patients in the way Dr. Ellicott wants. _Not_ entertaining their crazy little fantasies and putting fellow employees at risk.”

The reality of his machinations crashed down like a lightning bolt from clear blue sky.

“You cruel...” She began. “And if I go to Dr. Ellicott first?”

He shrugged. ”I'll make sure that you're discredited and tossed out of here.”

She sighed and turned away, couldn't even look at him. His hatred was like a noxious pyre on which their friendship, everything they'd ever been to each other, ever had, burned to ash. She turned back to him, an echoing hatred arising in her own chest. She was beyond tears, beyond shock. She saw their world for what it was, saw what she had to agree to in order for any semblance of the status quo to remain. It was such a fragile thing, she thought, both of them dancing along a knife's edge around each other. A moment of decision was all she needed. She would play his game, would let him win this time. Because she knew in her bones that she would be able to turn this around, get out from under his thumb and find some means of absolution.

“So this is what it's come to? I have to stay in line or you'll ruin my life?” She let her own hatred blaze as she looked back at him.

“It appears so, Sister.”

 

= = = =

 

She took a sick day the following Monday. She had been reeling from their confrontation all weekend, been so lost in thought and apparently looked so stricken that some of the Sister's had commented on her health. It was partly due to their concern that she called in sick and partly because she wasn't ready to face Syd yet.

He was obviously working on getting her out of the picture. How and why and for how long he'd been plotting, she didn't know. What she did know was that she would sooner call on Satan himself than let Syd scare her away. She just needed some time to think and digest this turn of events. She was fully prepared to put on her best game face and continue the pretense for Syd when she returned to work the next night. Instead she was met by another emergency.

Syd and Carl were wrestling Gordon out of his room again. He was fighting them even more tenatiously than last time and Syd jabbed the needle into him violently. Gordon went down slowly, struggling to the last.

Syd threw her a relieved look as they dragged the sedated patient past her, a shred of the friend he'd once been to her peeking through. She locked the ward behind them and started on her checks right away.

By the time Syd returned she was sitting in the office, filling out a report about the disturbance. “I filled out most of it. You just have to add what I missed and sign it.” She handed it to him, not even trying to argue with him any longer.

“Thanks...” He took it carefully.

She rose from the desk so that he could sit and finish the report.

“I did the checks while you were gone and locked up Gordon's room. I'm going to make some coffee.”

She left without waiting for a reply. Hopefully her agreeable manner would give her a few extra minutes of Syd's trust. After getting the coffee going, she hurried back up one floor to check the isolation cells. This is where Gordon should have been taken. They were all empty.

She tried the door to Dr. Ellicott's office for good measure but it was locked. After getting the coffee she returned upstairs, painting a look of slight shock on her face before entering the ward. Syd didn't suspect anything, even thanked her for the coffee. She settled down with her Bible, trying to look as innocuous as possible and asked Syd to take the next checks. He agreed without any comment or sideways looks. This was going to work, she thought. All she had to do was keep Syd convinced that he had broken her.

 

= = = =

 

She kept up the farce for the next week, slowly dialing it back when it became ridiculous to keep acting so wounded all the time. She did her best to reconjure the way she'd acted around Syd before Dean had come to Roosevelt. By the end of the first week of September Syd even wished her a happy weekend as their shift ended and they went home.

His manor was softening again. It was nowhere near what it had been but he seemed to be getting over his anger towards her. She only had to keep this up long enough to get him past all suspicion and she could start making her move. That involved slowly introducing sleep aid into his coffee again. It was risky, but the current state of affairs was unsustainable.

She hadn't spoken to Dean in over two weeks, a choice that was made easier by his increasing outbursts of rage. Only last night she had come to work to find Syd and Carl wrestling him down onto the bed while they pumped him full of sedatives. He was fighting them off like a caged beast but eventually went under. It pained her to see it but she was back to playing the good little nun in order to get the upper hand. That meant avoiding Dean again and convincing Syd that he had scared her straight.

 

= = = =

 

The cold of October had rolled in to stay when she decided it was time to start drugging Syd again. They had been divvying up the checks for a few nights and she was itching to start getting him out of her hair. He was still disappearing a few nights a week for an hour or two at a time. She pretended not to care. He wouldn't divulge his whereabouts and she wouldn't ask. Let him think that she was too scared to wonder, too accepting to question his absences and too desperate to keep her job to go snooping after him or even visiting Dean.

She hadn't spoken to him in two months now and that was another thing she was itching to do, but she had to bide her time with more patience and self restraint. Syd would get what was coming to him soon enough. And if it cost her job or even her place in the church she was willing to take that.

Syd still hadn't returned when she started on 3am checks. All the patients were asleep except Dean. He was calm tonight, not sedated but not in a rage. It was a pleasant change.

“Sister.” He whispered when she checked on him.

She was about to turn away when he called for her again. “What?” She asked impatiently.

He looked put out for a moment. “I was wondering if you could call my brother?”

She thought about it for a moment. “What do you want me to tell him? That you're getting worse?”

“Nah. Just tell him to say hi to Grampa Campbell for me.”

“Your grandfather? You've never mentioned him before.”

“I haven't seen him since I was a kid. But I've been doing a lot of thinking lately, and if I'm gonna be stuck in here forever I at least want Sam to be able to tell the guy something before he dies.”

“What happened to breaking out? I'm surprised you haven't tried yet.”

“I'll never get out of here, Sister...” He sighed.

“Very well, I'll pass on your message.” She stepped back from the door.

“Thanks.” He said quietly as she closed the hatch.

 

= = = =

 

The first time she added only a few drops of sleeping aid to Syd's coffee. It helped that he took sugar because it masked the taste. The first night she tried it, he only sat listlessly for the last hours of their shift before slogging off to his car when he headed home.

She waited until the next week before trying again, this time adding the same amount. He once again sat groggily in the office but didn't fall asleep. She added it to the coffee he routinely took after dinner, so the beginnings of his symptoms could easily be explained as lethargy in the wee hours of the morning, just as before when he used to nap towards the end of the shift.

Two weeks later she added a few more drops and watched as his head lolled heavily while he tried to keep his eyes open. He slipped away for a few moments at a time but didn't fall asleep entirely. She decided to add a bit more the next night, keeping the occasions as random as possible. This time he fell asleep for about thirty minutes before waking up and heading out on his secret walkabouts, claiming he was getting some air.

By the end of November she was adding a teaspoon of the stuff to his coffee a few times a week, which made him sleep about 2 hours. A timespan that could still be explained by his natural sleeping habits at work. He gave her no indication that he knew what she was doing and she gave no indication of being other than her old self.

She smiled to herself as she walked home in the crisp November morning, days before Thanksgiving. This time she would succeed in keeping Syd where she wanted him. She just had to be patient a little while longer.


	13. This Is How An Angel Dies

The day after Thanksgiving she was called into the kitchen by one of the other Sisters.

“You have a phone call.” She said, handing over the receiver.

“Hello?” Sister Mary asked.

“Sister,” Sam's voice on the other end. “I just wanted you to tell Dean that I spoke with Grampa, he says hello and hopes that Dean's well. He said it was great to hear from him after all these years. He's gonna try to come visit over Christmas.”

“But, you know that's not an option.” She cupped her hand around the mouthpiece, speaking low.

“I know that, but I figured I'd indulge the old guy. He doesn't have many winters left, you know?”

“Dean won't buy it.” She told him flatly.

“No he won't but just tell him anyway.” Sam said testily. “It might cheer him up.”

“Very well.” She returned in the same tone.

“How's he doing, by the way?” His voice softened.

“He hasn't been well. I think it's partly due to new medication, partly due to the stress of being locked up.” Silently she wished that she could tell Sam everything, but there were too many ears about.

“Okay then,” Sam didn't sound happy about the news. “Just promise that if he needs to contact me again you'll make the call, okay?”

“I will. Goodbye.”

 

= = = = 

 

She relayed the message to Dean that night, after drugging Syd and slipping away. He thanked her but asked her to tell Sam that it would be better if Gampa came to visit in the spring instead.

“You know he can't see you, even if he comes here.” She said.

“I know, but like Sam said, just let him think he can.” Dean shrugged.

“Ok, I'll call Sam tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Sister.” He looked like he was going to continue, then changed his mind.

“What is it?” She urged, sitting next to him.

He looked away, running a hand through his hair and sighing.

“I gotta tell you something, and you're not gonna like it.” He looked back at her, face solemn.

“That sounds serious.” She was nonplussed as to what the revelation would be. “Just tell me.”

Dean looked away for a second before bracing himself and spilling the news. “You've noticed weird shit going on around here lately, right?” She nodded. “Well, it's pretty serious.”

“In what way?” She shifted where she sat, expecting the worst.

“Have you ever taken a look around the basement, Sister?”

That took her by surprise. “Not in years. What does that have to do with this?”

“You should reacquaint yourself with the rooms down there. I think you'll find the space is bigger than it first appears.”

“Why are you talking about the basement? Just tell me what's going on.”

Dean shook his head minutely.

“Check out the basement, Sister. In the boiler room there's a door with a warning sign on it, biohazard. You should really, _really_ , take a closer look.”

 

= = = =

 

She couldn't go snooping around the basement after her shift, as the day workers would be bustling around in activity before long. She decided to come in early – sneak in early – before her shift started the following Monday night.

When she got there, a full forty minutes before she was slated to begin work, she followed Dean's directions and made her way to the boiler room. She'd never been in this particular part of the basement before. It wasn't hard to find but the door was locked. Thankfully she had the key to unlock it on the ring hanging at her waist. She moved through the dimly lit space, careful not to trip or cause any unneccessary noise. She wished that she had taken a flashlight with her, the few grimey ceiling bulbs doing little to chase away the dark.

Eventually she found the door with the biohazard sign, pausing a moment before entering. The warning was there for a reason, wasn't it? Inside, it was just a small room, containing nothing of importance. Containing barely anything at all.

She sighed and considered the walls mored closely. Dean had made mention of the space being larger than it appeared and the very fact that he could describe this area so correctly proved that he _had_ been down here, but that in itself made no sense. No patients were allowed in the basement. So she considered the situation from another angle, listing the facts. Dean had indeed been down here, she didn't doubt that. He had spoken of something awful that he wouldn't name outright. He had told her that the space was deceptively large, that she should pay special attention to this room.

She looked around the room once more. It was slightly smaller than the patient's rooms up on the third floor, with one metal shelving unit to the right, inside the door. On the opposite wall, above her head, were a half dozen square holes, letting electric light filter into the largely empty space. She looked around slowly, trying to find any signs that there was anything even remotely of significance. As her eyes drifted over the walls she found herself paying the most attention the wall next to the shelving unit. Logic said that the other wall with the small light-holes led to nothing, as the corridor turned outside and behind this space. But to get to this room she had walked along a stretch of corridor, so if there was a hidden room down here it must be in this direction. This, she deduced, must be the very thing Dean expected her to figure out.

She stepped up to the wall, ran her fingertips over the bumpy paint, examined the expanse between ceiling and floor. At the latter point she thought for a moment that she could feel air moving against her fingers. She licked one finger and held it against the crease. Yes, there was definitely a current moving there. So, there was a space behind this wall, and the nature of her exploration here would certainly point towards a secret doorway. She stood, pressed both her palms against the wall and pushed. She was expecting to be met with resistance, but the section swung away easily, as though the hinges were well-oiled.

The space beyond was dark. Only the same filtered quality of light as the biohazard room lended it's eerie glow. She fumbled for a lightswitch and when she found it what she saw was unfathomable. A room stretched before her. Metal gurneys glinted in the flickering light. Three in a row at the other end of the space, separated by, and half hidden behind, plastic curtains. The walls were lined here and there with low cabinets, with glass-doored cupboards that held a myriad vials and bottles of indeterminate contents. The floor was still damp. Someone had hosed it down recently, a pool of pinkish water still stained the floor around the drain. She shuddered and tried not to think what could have been washed away from sight.

A vague horror crept upon her as she realized that whatever was going on down here, it was of a terrible enough nature to need such a clandestine workspace. A cold rippled through the room, a bad feeling that practically soaked into her pores. She shivered and started her retreat. She would most definitely need to speak more with Dean about this.

She hit the lights and backed out, pulling the door with her. It swung to and clicked as it latched closed, concealing it's purpose and the morbid room beyond once more.

 

= = = =

 

The next night Syd took off again to points unknown. For a brief moment she considered following him. She felt compelled to do so. But she felt more compelled to speak with Dean. She'd been feeling uneasy since her expedition. There was a lingering sense of vexation hovering around her, a reaction that could have been entirely caused by her discovery, but felt homologous enough to Dean's outbursts that she wondered for a brief moment if the anger was catching.

“Ok, I've seen the room. What on earth does Dr. Ellicott do down there?” She said as soon as she'd set foot in his room.

He sat up, shaking off sleep and trying to process her words. When he was coherent enough to reply he asked: “Did you see a ledger? Like a big journal?”

“No. Now answer my question. What is he doing to you in that room?” She stood at the foot of his bed, looking down at him keenly.

He rubbed at his eyes, looking up at her like her behavior perturbed him.

“Experimenting.” He said at last, cautiously. “Playing with shit he thinks is gonna control me, us. Sometimes there's more of us down there at the same time. He cuts into us, pokes us with all those shiny tools of his. And the screaming.... you can't even imagine.”

“How is he getting away with this?” She asked. The very idea of it going on under everyone's noses angered her. How could the doctor in good conscience be treating the patients like labrats?

Dean sat forward, eyebrows raised. “Are you kidding me? He runs this place! You really think anyone is gonna question this shit? He's untouchable.” He settled back, keeping a close eye on her. “The day shift orderlies are some of the most sadistic people I've ever met. Everyone working here can get away with whatever the hell they want. Even you.”

She considered his words. They largely encompassed what she herself had experienced in one form or another during her tenure.

“It would appear so...” She conceded. “Though I'm not exactly torturing you in the name of science.”

“Not in the name of science but...” He began impertinantly. At her acerbic look he quieted.

“What?” Indignance flared to life within her. “Are you saying that it's torture talking with me? Having my company? Is it torture that I contacted your brother? Smuggled him in here so that you could talk about God only knows what, while I risked my livelihood and my reputation?” She promptly pushed back from the bed, moving towards the door. “Because if it is, I could just as easily withdraw my presense and go back to treating you like every other lunatic on this ward!”

He stared at her in astonishment for a moment. “Relax, I was only teasing.”

She stopped in the doorway.

“You tease rather well for a man who claims to respect me, want my friendship, need my help. Or is it that you want me to just lift my skirts for you? Was that your hope from the beginning? To butter me up and have me as your concubine, staving off the madness of forced celibacy in this... this hell hole!” Her anger receded and in it's wake disconsolation rushed in. She covered her face and wept.

He didn't speak. He sat, still and waiting. After she quieted she looked at him through teary eyes. “I'm sorry. I- I didn't mean that.”

He gave her an unamused look, only the tiniest hint of anger peeking through. “I think you meant every word. But I also think those are your issues, not mine.”

“I'm sor-” She started again, like a broken record. He cut her off.

“Yeah, I heard you the first time... But apologizing won't take it back. Why do you keep seeing me if you really feel like that?”

“I...” She stopped and chose her words carefully. “I don't know...”

He raised an eyebrow.

“That's the truth. I...” she sighed, “I know there's no love between us. We're distraction at best... Two people thrust together under irregular circumstances.”

He didn't speak for a long time. Just stared at the space between them.

“Just so you know,” he began without looking up, “if all I'd wanted was your body, I could have had that a long time ago.” He looked at her then, not angry, indifferent. Whether he meant that he could have taken her by charm or force she wasn't sure. Wasn't even sure it mattered any longer.

“What are we doing?” She sighed again. “This thing, it won't lead anywhere.” She looked at him, searching for an answer. He just shrugged.

“You started it.” His words were emotionless, stating fact.

She nodded. “I did. And I want to say that I can end it, but it would be a lie.”

His lips twitched in an almost smile before he arrested the movement. “Find the ledger.”


	14. Uncover Our Heads And Reveal Our Souls

She figured that the ledger Dean had spoken of must be locked away in Dr. Ellicott's office. And that meant not only slipping away from Syd for long enough to search for it but, more importantly, finding a way to get into his office, period. She spent the rest of the month mulling over the best way to go about this task. Her best bet would be to try for it over Christmas when there was less staff running about. Dr. Ellicott would be taking his usual two weeks of leave, giving her a decent window for infiltration. She would be working with Syd like she did every year, but by now she was so adept at dosing him with sleeping aid that she was confident of getting him out of her way. The only detail left to figure out was how to get into the office.

A stroke of genius hit her a few days before Christmas. She waited until a quarter to six, knowing the front offices would be mostly empty by then, and entered the administrative building, kicking snow off her shoes. She walked up to the reception desk sheepishly.

“Evening, Sister.” The secretary smiled at her.

“Hi Suzanne.” She paused, lowered her voice. “This is a bit embarrasing, I left my keys up in the South Ward office this morning when I headed home.”

“Aww, hon. How'd that happen?” Suzanne frowned.

“I don't know. I'm so forgetful lately. I think it's just this time of year, you know?” Sister Mary played up the ditsy angle for all she was worth.

“Tell me about it. I need three cups of coffee in the morning just to get going. I can't imagine what it's like staying awake all night when the days are so short.” Suzanne's brow creased further.

“Yes,” the Sister agreed. “And Syd walked me down to the dorm and was locking everything behind us and... I just plain forgot them. But I was hoping you could do me a favor.” She leaned in closer. “I don't want to make a big fuss about this. So I was wondering if I could borrow one of the master keys just to get into the ward tonight. I promise I'll come straight back with it after I find my own keys. I'm sure they're lying there on the desk waiting for me.”

“Honey...” She looked around to check no one was watching or could overhear them but the office was deserted. “Sure, just, don't tell anyone and make sure to bring it straight back tonight. Leave it here in the top drawer and I'll put it back in the safe when I get here tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, bless you!” Sister Mary hammed it up as Suzanne gave her the key. “I promise I'll bring it right back tonight. Thank you so much.” She smiled from ear to ear and left, wrapping her hand around the keyring in her pocket and thinking how convenient it was that people never suspected nuns of nefarious plotting.

 

= = = =

 

She strolled up to the South Ward thirty minutes early. Enough time to look for the ledger. The stairs were empty as she crept up to the second floor. Outside the doctor's office she stopped and took a deep breath. She knocked on the door and waited. Knocked again louder just to make sure. The doctor wasn't in.

She slipped the master key into the lock and turned it silently. Dr. Ellicott's office was spacious and opulent. Two whole walls were lined with books and a large desk stood by the far wall, framed by a heavily curtained window. He was definitely a man who liked the finer things in life. She rolled her eyes at the sickening materialism and started searching. She found plenty of books that looked like ledgers, but all of them were printed medical texts. Nothing fitting Dean's description was in either filing cabinet or in the drawers of the desk.

She stopped and looked around. Perhaps, since the procedure room was hidden, the doctor would take the same measures in hiding any written record of his work. The lower half of the walls were covered in picture-frame wainscoting. She went around the room, testing each panel, until she found one that came loose. Inside she found a large leather satchel which contained the very tome she was looking for.

A look at her watch told her that she had only ten minutes before she had to get upstairs. She turned the pages just as quickly as she could scan them. Page after page of diagrams and notes detailing what, at a glance, looked like descriptions of Dr. Ellicott's brutal experiments. She came across one section that was headed only by Dean's name. Herein the doctor had written detail after detail of his heinous acts. All of which Dean had been subjected to and in a flash the instances of strange behaviour he had shown made sense to her.

One thing became clear rather quickly: the doctor was perfomring unsanctioned treatments that he expected would rehabilitate rage. She understood why he had chosen Dean, his reputaion alone made him a prime candidate. Though the few results that she had witnessed spoke towards the treatments having the opposite effect to what was desired. Several more names were strewn through the doctor's notes, some she knew and some didn't. She couldn't say why the other patients warranted these amoral procedures. Disgust flowed through her as she checked her watch again and replaced the ledger the way she had found it.

Two names remained seared into her retinas as she made her way upstairs. Not because they belonged to any of the patients, or even because she was terribly shocked to find them recorded amongst the horrors. No, because they were the names of co-workers that she had depended on to secure her safetly, everyone's safety, inside the asylum's walls. The disgust she felt turned to pure, smouldering odium as she entered the familiar third-floor office to find the owner's of those two names chatting and laughing.

Syd and Carl.

= = = =

 

It took all her strength to remain polite and civil around them after that. Especially Syd. Carl she only ran into on occasion and she had never had a high opinion of the man anyway. But Syd, Syd she had been friends with. Trusted and confided in. They had ensured the other's safety every night together for over three years. If their friendship hadn't already disintegrated to nothing she would have been more devastated, but she suspected that Syd had turned to the doctor as a result of her obsession with Dean. In his eyes she had turned away from him and he needed to fill that void. She could accept that he hated her, but that he would turn that vitriol to such sadistic endeavors sickened her. He was worse than he professed Dean to be.

She had spent that entire night bent over her Bible, not even able to look at him without shuddering.

Now Christmas was over. 1964 had begun and she felt like she had lost all direction. Dean had imparted this secret to her but she had no idea what to do with it. She couldn't blow the whistle. Dr. Ellicott ran the place and Mother Superior shared his attitudes, if not his proclivities, towards the patients. No one would believe her. No one but Dean, and he was as powerless to do anything as she was. If Syd caught even the faintest whiff that she knew, she wouldn't put it past him to resort to violence. It would be easy enough to fake a report. Frame one of the patients, probably Dean.

Before she confided in Dean she wanted to figure out exactly what she was going to do. She stayed away from him, stayed away from all of it. Pretended that she couldn't see Syd's eyes tracking her around the room as she worked. She cut herself off from all outwardly influencing factors. Let nothing sway her. She needed to come to terms with this within herself before she could make any move towards action or reaction.

 

= = = =

 

On the last day of January she ensured Syd's stupor and went to speak with Dean. She jammed the key into the lock before turning it, pulled the door closed with more force than she needed to. She wanted to wake him, wanted him to get angry, lash out. Anything to feed the intolerable flame in her belly.

She had never felt such strength of emotion before when it wasn't connected to her faith in God. It was abhorrent yet warming. It left her afloat like driftwood in the ocean, lost and fearful. Confused yet giddy at the possibilty of the unknown.

Dean's head rested on his arms where he lay looking up at the ceiling. She stood just inside the door, hands clasped and slightly trembling behind her back, just like she had the first few times she'd entered his cell almost two years ago.

“You stayed away for a long time, Sister. Haven't heard a word from you in over a month. Yet every night you look through that door at me like your heart is broken or something.” His voice was hushed, reverent with ill-will.

She ignored his tone, his anger. Something was broken between them. Perhaps it was the revelations of what happened in the dark corners of Roosevelt. Perhaps she had played indifferent too well and severed their bond through sheer neglect. Dwelling on the 'hows' and 'whys' only fanned the flame within her. She clasped her hands tighter until her knuckles hurt.

“I found the ledger. I read it.” Her voice was as cold as Dean's had ever been.

“Ah...” he said after a moment, rising to stand at the foot of the bed.

The few feet between them felt like a leaden chasm. They could have been face to face, inches apart, and it still would have felt like miles. With that thought she felt a rush of sadness. She never wanted it to come to this, never wanted their friendship to come to this.

“What do you plan to do?” She asked, voice going hoarse.

“About what?” Dean asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Don't play. About Ellicott.” She gritted out.

Dean straightened, took a step forward, eyes boring into her like the calm before the storm when the air is so charged with electricity you can practically cut it with a knife.

“I'm gonna kill him.” His voice darker than death.

She sucked in a breath and looked heavenward. Let the words kindle her fire even more. After several long moments she closed her eyes and nodded, tears welling up in her eyes.

“Okay.” She walked away.


	15. I Have Felt The Edge Of Sadness, I Have Known The Depth Of Fear

The status quo remained upheld as far as Syd was concerned. Winter ended, and spring began breaking through the remaining chill and still the smallest flicker of anger burned within her. Syd was disappearing almost every night now. She didn't care that he left her alone on the ward, she _did_ care that he was down in that room – something that became clear as soon as she had read his name in the doctor's notes – and was torturing in the name of a deranged man and his own misplaced morals. If she listened hard enough she could almost hear the screaming waft up to the office. She started noticing Dr. Ellicott's car still in the lot a few nights a week when she came to work. It made her feel ill that he was giving more time to his secret work, that the patients weren't safe, even during the hours alloted for sleep.

As far as Dean was concerend she didn't know where they stood, where she stood or even what was really going on with him. He hadn't been missing from the ward since before Christmas – at least not during the night. His fits of rage had stopped but he seemed eternally on edge, like he was pissed at everyone and everything but trying to keep it in check. All of his composure had been washed away on the flood of Dr. Ellicott's experiments and their resulting side-effects.

They didn't speak much any more. If he was awake during checks he pretended not to be, or he just looked at her blankly until she went away. There was a part of her that ached at the loss, but the rest of her was slowly charring to cold, unfeeling ash. It had shaken her more than any of Syd's threats to learn what was going on. Shaken her more than any of the second-guessing she'd been doing since Dean arrived and she let herself be swept away by sick obsession.

That charred part of her wanted him to kill Ellicott. Wanted him to exact a revenge – no, a justice – so swift and merciless that it would be felt in the very heavens. God would punish the doctor for his sins. Just as He would punish every last one of them for their trangressions. But it would not be her place to mete out His will. Perhaps it was fitting, after all, that Dean would have that priviledge. She had been considering his position for months now and believed absolutely that he would take a chance at escape if it presented itself. He was cunning enough to find a way, and stubborn enough to pull it off. What she was still having trouble deciding was if she would play a part or not.

 

= = = =

 

At the end of March she received a call from Sam. Apparently Grampa Campbell had kicked the bucket, and he was passing on the details of the funeral to Dean, to do with as he wished.

She unlocked Dean's room quietly that night after Syd had removed himself to the torture chamber.

“Sam called. Your grandfather died a few days ago.” She spoke to his still form on the bed.

He opened his eyes and sat up slowly. “Did he say anything else?”

“The funeral is on April 16th. In Lawrence.”

Dean sat quietly for a few minutes. He looked relieved.

“Was that all?” He looked up at her.

“He died earlier this week. Sam's taking care of the funeral arrangements and the service will be held next month. He wanted you to know, despite not being able to attend.”

“What's todays date?” He asked.

“It's the 27th.”

He considered this for a moment.

“Ok, thanks, Sister.” He gave her a smile that she hadn't seen in several months.

“Do you have anything you want me to pass on to Sam?” She asked, giving him the barest of smiles in return.

“No.”

 

= = = =

 

The first week of April passed by in daze. She was so preoccupied with working out how she truly felt about things that when the weekend rolled around she could hardly remember a single detail from the last five days.

After another week of soul searching she had come to a decision. She wanted to see Ellicott meet his end. She wanted to see Dean do it, wanted to help him. She realized that the moral to Dean's life tale was that when presented with the abhorrent evil of this world a line was drawn in the sand. One had to act, had to take a step towards the rest of their lives with that knowledge forever a part of them. The true test was in deciding what side of that line you ended up on. Would you take the path of evil, even if only by choosing to look away? Would you choose the path of good, and furthermore fight for it? Sister Mary was through with a life of passivity. There was a darkness permeating the asylum and she was now clearly seeing it seep through the cracks. She understood that coming down on the right side of the line meant leaving her clerical life behind. It meant shedding the veil and the ecclessiastic world. To her there was no other choice.

 

= = = =

 

After deciding to leave this life behind in pursuit of other things the turmoil of her heinous discovery began lessening. She had a direction to move in now, a goal to work towards. And as she moved towards Dean's room that night, each step pulling her closer like an invisible line reeling her in, she felt like the dead space between them had sparked back to life, to something as close to what it had been as it could be under the circumstances. The carcass of their bond had been reingnited with new life, like a zombie reanimating and crawling out of it's grave.

She drugged Syd thoroughly and went to speak with Dean.

“I handed in my notice today.” She began, after entering his room. “I'll be leaving Roosevelt as soon as they can find a replacement for me.”

Her words, though friendly, were tentative. She wasn't entirely certain that Dean would be imbued with the same feeling of familiarity towards her. Especially after her behavior of late.

“I didn't see that coming.” He said after a long pause.

Sister Mary charged ahead, trying to dispell any tension that might remain between them.

“I also spoke with Mother Superior about leaving the nunhood and continuing my work in a more secular environment. Soon I won't have to wear all this any longer.” She smiled ruefully, touching her veil.

“What changed your mind?” Dean sat, pulling one foot close and letting the other swing down off the bed, tone guarded.

“You.” She looked at her feet. “And Dr. Ellicott, his work... Lots of things.” She looked back at him, face carefully neutral.

“And you're sure you made the right choice?” Dean asked, kinder now.

“Yes.” She forced a smile. “I'm just a bit nervous about all the possibilities I have waiting for me now. And worried about what will happen to you after I leave.”

“I'll be fine.” He shrugged.

“I have a hard time believing that. I think Syd will take the first chance he can to beat you senseless. And the doctor... well, there's no telling what he might do.”

He looked away from her, turned his head to gaze out the window at the sliver of starless sky he could see there.

“I'm sorry I couldn't help you...” She said quietly.

He shook his head and looked down at his hands, resting in his lap.

She sat down next to him, taking one of his hands in her own as he kept gazing at them. When he made no move to speak she let go of his hand and turned to him, shuffled in close until her knees were pressed firmly against his thigh, her hip against his knee on the bed. Slowly he raised his eyes to look at her.

“You did what you could.” He said, barely above a whisper.

She raised a hand to cup his face. His stubble scratched her palm, sent a wave of heat shivering through her.

Incrementally her hand dropped, fingertips brushing his jaw, then his throat and collarbone. Further it swept, down across his chest, his stomach. At his abdomen he arrested the movement with a gentle hand.

“Why now?” He asked quietly, with a hint of confusion.

She took his face in her other hand, leaned her forehead against his, eyes closed. “I have this horrible feeling that I’ll never see you again. Like the dark cloud hanging over this place is going to swallow you up.”

He sighed softly. “It won’t swallow me up. It’ll set me free.”

She kissed him then. With an abandon that encompassed every wicked intent she had felt in her entire life. He broke the kiss and pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her and burrying his face in her veil.

“No,” his voice trembled slightly.

“Why?” She asked.

He pulled back enough to look at her. “I'll be leaving tomorrow, what does it matter?”

His words were spoken gently but still she felt the sting of rejection.

“Why?” She asked again. He didn't answer. “Wait. What do you mean you'll be leaving tomorrow?”

“I've been here for two years... Locked up, doped up and experimented on. Now, I'm gonna get out.”

“How?” She asked.

He touched the keyring hanging from her waist. She followed the movement with her eyes then looked back at him when she understood.

“So I can help you after all...” She breathed.

He nodded.

“But that doesn't change the fact that as soon as you're out of your room there will be a half dozen orderlies racing up here to stop you.”

He pulled his hand away. “I'll make it out of here, trust me. And when I do I'm gonna kill that son of a bitch Ellicott. He gets to breathe one more night, and then tomorrow I'm gonna end him.”

“How do you even know the doctor will be here tomorrow night?” She countered.

“People talk, Sister. Even to me.” His lips twitched into a contented smile. “Besides, I can see the parking lot from my window. His car's been there after sundown every night this week.”

She stood, paced towards the door and turned. “Why now?”

“Because it has to be now.”

“What do you need from me?”

“Just let me out of this room tomorrow night. That's it, that's all.” He crossed his arms and settled back against the bedframe.

“People are going to die aren't they? I mean, besides Dr, Ellicott.”

“This is gonna end bloody, no way it won't. And I'm gonna do my damndest to make sure that everyone who bites it has it coming, but I can't promise."

“A lot of them have it coming.”

That earned her a surprised look.

“Yeah, they do,” he recovered quickly. “So, please, just get clear and go.”

She smiled then, inexpicably and surprisingly. She went to him, leaned down and hugged him. She could do this one last thing, help liberate him from bondage, help him continue the fight.

“First checks tomorrow. Be ready.” She said as his arms came up to circle her.

They sat like that for a while, just breathing, before she left him – locking his room for the last time and returning to the office.


	16. Oh Lord, For Everything A Reason

That evening she approached the South Ward in a veritable daze. Her thought's were all-comsumed by the impending violence. She went through the motions of courteous normalcy but her face felt detached, like a taught drumskin of farce had replaced it. Her movements were mechanical. Going through the motions of a routine long since dead and discarded, a link to her soul forever severed.

Syd wasn't there when she reached the third floor. For a moment she allowed a thrill of victory to course through her – no Syd meant that things could proceed without a hitch – until she heard a sound behind her and spun around.

He stood there, casually leaning against the doorjamb, hands in pockets and posture relaxed, but the look in his eyes was pregnant with dark anticipation. She felt a shiver move down her shoulderblades, painted a smile onto her face and moved to walk past him.

Syd pushed away from the jamb, filling the doorway and preventing her from getting past.

“Syd, I need to do my checks.” She tried casually.

He looked at her from under hooded, malevolent eyes. A gaze so piercing and unnatural it made her shiver.

“Come on, Syd, move.” Her pulse quickened. She tried to squeeze past but he moved to block her passage.

“No,” came the sinister reply. He stepped forward, backing her up against the desk. “I heard you last night, talking to that monster.”

Now her pulsed spiked. _How?_ She had ensured his stupor.

“I don't know what you're talking about.” She arched back, trying to escape his looming presence.

“I heard him. He's gonna try to kill Dr. Ellicott. And you're gonna help him.” His words dripped with disdain.

“Syd, stop this.”

“I caught on to you drugging me a while back. Then all I had to to was switch out the bottle and pretend to be asleep. Let you think you were getting away with it.” He crowded in closer, face mere inches from hers.

She reached behind her, scrabbling to find anything she could defend herself with.

“But I was listening.” His voice had dropped to a menacing hiss. “The doc's here, we're gonna make sure Dean never hurts anyone ever again. And you'll have to go too.”

Sister Mary's hand closed around the heavy black telephone.

“I hope you said goodbye to loverboy. You'll never see him again.” Syd reared back like he was going to strike her. She took the opening and swung the bakelite brick as hard as she could. It made a solid thunk and ding as it connected with the side of his face. Syd crumpled like a bag of rocks and for a moment all she could hear was the thundering of her own heartbeat. The sound ate everything.

Through that frantic percussion two thoughts made themselves clear: Syd might be dead, and she had to get to Dean now. She pulled herself together, grabbed the keys from Syd's belt and sprinted to Dean's room. Her hands fumbled as she unlocked the door then wrenched it open – no care for what sound she made now.

“What happened?” Dean stood as she dropped to kneel by his feet, quickly unfastening the shackle.

“Syd,” she panted. “I think I killed him.” Dean's ankle was free and he pulled her up by the arms.

“What do you mean 'killed him'? What happened?” He asked urgently.

“He – he cornered me. He knows. Tried to stop me. I hit him with the phone.” She answered breathlessly, staring blindly at his chest.

“Okay, okay. I'll take care of it. Get out of here!” He took the keys from her hand, as she continued to stare, and hurried out.

Hoots and shouts pulled Sister Mary out of her shock. She stumbled out into the corridor to the sight of patients going berserk. Dean was nowhere in sight. Every light went on suddenly and she could hear the shouts of orderlies from outside the ward's doors. Syd must have come to and called for help; not dead then. Four men burst through – two white clad, two guards. Three of them raced head on at the visible threat: the patients trashing the corridor and day room. One – Carl – hung back. Baton held high he ventured a look into the wash room before hugging the wall and moving towards the office. He hesitated, baton falling to his side, and shouted something unintelligable over the clamour.

Sister Mary knew, like a nudge from her abandoned God, that Dean was in there. She ran. Weaved through the grappling bodies but before she could reach the office Carl had disappeared inside. She skidded to a stop, hand in a death grip on the doorjamb, accosted by the sight of a standoff. Dean had Syd in front of him like a shield, a pair of scissors held to Syd's throat, pushing hard enough against the skin that there was already a small trickle of blood. Carl stood just out of reach, baton shaking in his white-knuckled hand.

“Drop the stick, asshat, or you'll be mopping his blood up off the floor.” Dean jabbed the scissors in a fraction deeper to accentuate the threat.

“Not gonna happen, you freak. Now let him go and I won't have to bash your sorry skull in.” Carl raised his baton.

“No!” Sister Mary exclaimed before throwing herself at him. This gave Dean the distraction he needed. He hurled Syd to the floor before launching himself at the bigger man. The scissor blades went in easy, a thick wet noise, then Dean yanked them out of Carl's throat and sunk them home again. The impact left Carl frozen in place, wide eyes searching Dean's from inches away. Sister Mary gasped and stepped back.

Carl's lifeblood was gushing out over Dean's hand, staining the front of his white shirt a livid red. Dean let him collapse, the inauspicious blades now depositing vile crimson drops onto the tired linoleum. He picked up the night stick and turned to look at the Sister.

Her eyes locked onto Dean's a moment before Syd tackled him. Dean didn't go down, the smaller man no match for his strength. Dean shook Syd loose, but not without losing his grip on the scissors, now slippery with blood. Syd regained his feet, implement in hand and mouth curled into a wicked parody of a smile.

Sister Mary watched them watching each other, neither making a move to attack. Dean twirled the baton in his hand and held it at the ready. In a blink they were in combat again. Syd was outmatched but the scissor's deadly threat was enough to keep him in the game. Dean backstepped to avoid a slashing stab, then swung the baton but Syd managed to feint right and away from the blow. Syd swung his weapon again, faster than she thought possible, and the resulting hit opened a gash across Dean's upper right arm. Dean winced and moved out of reach.

Sister Mary watched in fear. The baton, no matter how expertly weilded, was no match for a pointed blade and Syd's light-footed agility. Dean was undeniably the predator here – his years of brutal hunting had left him hardened and instinctual – but Syd was driven by hate; pure and abiding. He would not be so easily beaten by the monster he saw before him. The Sister knew that Syd no longer fought for her safety, or the safety of his fellow orderlies, he had severed that link unequivocally. Now, loyalty to a depraved potentate shone murderously in his eyes. He would defend that fidelity to the bitter end. And that end was staring him in the face.

The reality of how far they had all fallen from approbation hit her like a slug to the chest. They were a congregation of sinners. Destined for whatever punishment the afterlife saw fit to issue them. Contrary to instinct, that thought instilled her with tranquillity. Enough to realize that they had all been foredoomed long before Dean arrived. He, and he alone, shone among the sullied throng. Still fighting for his calling. Still shedding his blood for a greater cause.

Dean was still holding his own. Syd swiped down after another lunge sent him skittering backwards. More blood issued from Dean's right arm. It was shaking now, deep gashes sapping his strength, making his grip slacken. Syd moved in for another sanguinary blow, arm drawn back to bolster the strike.

The world slowed down to molecules moving through molasses. She could see it coming as though she had all the time in the world to intervene. Her momentum hurtled her towards Syd's extended arm. If she could only get him off balance it would give Dean the opening he needed to take Syd down. Her fingertips curled around Syd's forearm as her weight crashed into him. He stumbled but didn't fall. In a rush of outlandish indignation she swung a fist that he easily blocked. His grip held fast to her offending limb and he spun them both around, backing her against the wall, Dean's wrath forgotten. His eyes seethed with hate.

“Go to Hell, Sister!” He spat and sunk the blades home.

She felt a point of cold below her sternum. Her mouth opened in a soundless gasp, impact of the hilt thudding out her exhalation. Her chin fell to her chest and she saw the scissor handles glinting silver in Syd's fist. Dean's roar filled her ears as Syd was yanked away from her. The scissorblades exited her and pulled with them the shock, like a cork from a wine bottle. Pain like molten fire scored through her, veins pumping battery acid. A strange clarity allowed her to press a hand against the unassuming wound but blood began wetting her fingers, trickling out between them.

A sharp crack sounded as Syd's neck snapped. His body fell to the floor in a fatal echo of his earlier stupor. Dean stepped over Syd's crumpled corpse to press a hand over hers.

“Hey, hey, hey! Look at me!” Dean's voice split through her cotton awareness, sounded far away. The pain was slowly cancelling everything else out, turning the world to fleecy down. She couldn't feel her legs, only Dean's support stopped her from falling to the floor. He eased her down the wall then took her face in both his hands.

“We're gonna fix you. You're gonna be fine.” Dean lied. His green eyes glistened, color more intense than she'd ever seen. She fixated on those emerald orbs as she tried to form words.

“I've never seen your eyes in the light before.” She tried to smile but her face was going numb. Weakly she pressed her keys into his hand. “Take them... get out of here.”

He took the keys absently, made no move to leave.

“I'm dying...” She continued. “Go.”

He lay her down gently. Her head lolled to the side, and through hazy vision she saw him retrieve the scissors from Syd's dead hand.

“Thank you,” Dean said.

The world went black.


	17. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

**It's A Cold And Broken Hallelujah**

 

A month later a gentleman in a new suit, shoes shined to gleaming, walked into a diner in Los Angeles. He was there to meet his lawyer, who nodded at him from across the room. Once seated at the table the lawyer passed him a thick manila envelope.

“It's all in there. Every detail covered,” he said and smiled.

The gentleman examined the envelope but didn't verify it's contents.

“I owe you.” He said.

The lawyer shook his head. “No, I'd say we're just about square now.” He looked down at his hands, clasped on the table. “Did you get him? The doctor?”

“Yeah,” the gentleman replied coolly, voice low. “Cornered him in the basement and gutted that son of a bitch. I doubt they'll find him.”

“Did you hear?” The lawyer looked up at his companion. “They closed the asylum.”

“I heard that, yeah. Guess there's some justice in the world after all.” The gentleman sniggered.

“You opened a major can of worms to get out of there. They couldn't even find all the bodies. Was that you too?” The lawyer looked perturbed.

“Hey, I just made sure to create a distraction. It's not on me if the psychos took their pound of flesh. Most of those assholes had it coming.”

“The remaining patients were transferred. They didn't even clean the place out, just locked it all up behind them after collecting the bodies.” The lawyer paused, hesitated before asking reverently, “Did she make it?”

“No.” The gentleman turned away, looked out the window to avoid the other man's apologetic gaze. “She didn't.”

“I'm sorry,” the lawyer said quietly.

The gentleman turned back to him. “Don't. _That_ one's on me.”

The lawyer shook his head as he rose from the table, briefcase in hand.

“Dean Winchester is officially dead. You got what you wanted.” He turned to leave but stopped, gave his brother one last look over his shoulder. “Enjoy your freedom.”

“I'll see you around.” The gentleman replied.

“No, brother, you won't.” His words were bitter sweet and then he was gone.


End file.
